


Smalltown Boy: The Ballad of Billy & Steve

by Stranger Ships (Imaginary_Boyfriend)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bottom Billy Hargrove, Fluff and Smut, M/M, POV Steve, Romance, Top Steve Harrington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-28 04:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginary_Boyfriend/pseuds/Stranger%20Ships
Summary: Steve Harrington encounters his rival, Billy Hargrove, and is surprised to see a different side of the troubled rebel. Friendship is inevitable, but could there be something more between these two magnificently coiffed high school dandies?





	1. Blue Christmas

**Monday, December 24th, 1984. 9am.**

Steve Harrington yawned as he trudged downstairs and followed the inviting smells of coffee and toast to the kitchen. His mother was sitting at the table in matching red tartan pajamas and a forest-green robe, flipping through an L.L. Bean catalog and listening to Amy Grant’s Christmas album. Mr. Harrington had given her one of those new high-tech compact disc players for her birthday earlier that year.

“Morning, Mom,” Steve mumbled as he scraped butter onto a piece of toast.

“Good morning, dear,” Mrs. Harrington said without looking up from her catalog. “Did you sleep well?”

_No, not really._

“Yeah,” he said through a mouthful of bread. “Is Dad up?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Stevie. Your father is upstairs, wrapping some gifts.”

“Do you think I might be getting one of those tomorrow?” He gestured at the newfangled Sony CD player sitting on the counter.

“Well, you’ll have to wait and see what Santa brings in the morning.”

_They totally got me one._

“It’s been over a decade since I believed in Santa, Mom.”

“Hmm… more like eight years, I think,” she said with a small smile. “Listen, sweetheart, since you’re already dressed, can you run to the drugstore to get me some aspirin? I woke up feeling a headache brewing, and we’ve run out.”

“What, now?”

“ _Yes_ , now, Steven.” Mrs. Harrington sighed with exasperation and rubbed her temples. “Unless I’m interrupting some pressing business of yours…”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll go. Sorry.” He quickly finished his toast and headed to the coat closet in the foyer.

“It’s lucky today isn’t Christmas, or every store would be closed,” his mother called from the kitchen. “Here, let me get you five dollars from my purse…”

“No thanks, Mom.” Steve pulled a heavy wool peacoat on over his cable-knit sweater. He glanced in the hallway mirror and scowled; his hair looked a little flat today, he thought, and an unwelcome pimple had appeared on his cheek during the night.

_It’s a good thing school’s out; I look like hell._

He was almost out the front door when his mom called out to him again from the kitchen.

“Oh, and don’t buy Tylenol; I still haven’t forgotten those murders in Chicago.”

“That was two years ago, Mom,” Steve said, rolling his eyes impatiently. “But sure, whatever you want.”

“There was cyanide in them, and they never caught the man who did it! There was a special on TV about it last night. So many sickos out there; it’s just terrible. Better safe than sorry, I say.”

“Okay, Mom,” Steve said absently, pulling the door closed behind him.

The chilly December morning air hit him like a wall of ice. As he walked briskly down the driveway, he heard a sharp tap and looked over at the kitchen window. His mother opened it a few inches and called out to him.

“Aren’t you taking your car, Stevie? It’s freezing out.”

“No, I’m sort of in the mood for a walk. It’s not that far.”

“Well, I hope you’re wearing warm socks. You’ll catch your death.”

“I’m seriously fine, Mom. Close the window, and stop worrying about socks and cyanide, or you’ll be the one getting sick.”

Mrs. Harrington’s fussing had worsened since the disappearance of Will Byers last year, especially after a body was found in the quarry. It was only natural that she’d be concerned, but Steve didn't like being treated like a little kid. The fact that he was heading to college next fall was likely intensifying her mother-hen impulses, especially since he was an only child.

Then, of course, there were the two instances in the last year when he’d come home bloody and bruised. She’d really hit the roof when she saw his face after Billy had beaten him to a pulp in November; Steve had to convince her not to call the school, and refused to disclose who had hit him. As much as he loathed Billy Hargrove, he didn’t want to see the guy expelled. His face was completely healed by now anyway.

Steve walked quickly to keep warm, stuffing his hands deep in his coat pockets; he found a scarf wadded inside and wrapped it gratefully around his neck. The maple trees lining the streets of Loch Nora were bare and skeletal; a chilly breeze sent dead leaves rustling across the sidewalk, where they crunched beneath his Nikes.

The nearest drugstore was only a few blocks away, and he was so deep in thought that he arrived in no time. It was unexpectedly busy, crowded with customers picking up last-minute Scotch tape, gift wrap, and VapoRub; it took over fifteen minutes of standing in line, listening to endless Christmas music, just to buy one lousy bottle of headache medicine.

 _If I have to hear ‘Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer’ one more time I might punch somebody_.

He left the store in a bad mood, shoving the aspirin in his coat pocket and ignoring the Salvation Army Santa requesting donations on the sidewalk outside.

“Merry Christmas!” the cheerful volunteer called after him, jangling his bell.

 _Yeah, if you say so_.

“Hey, Harrington!”

Steve froze. Even from all the way across the street, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

_What the hell is he doing here?_

He turned slowly to face his nemesis. Billy Hargrove was jogging across the street towards him, wearing his usual tight jeans and biker boots. A large Buick screeched to a halt and honked; Billy leapt smoothly out of the way, sticking both middle fingers up at the driver before hopping onto the curb outside the drugstore.

“What the hell do you want?” Steve stepped back warily, cursing his bad luck.

_Of all the people I had to run into._

“Relax, Harrington. I come in peace.” He raised his palms in mock surrender before tucking his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. He cleared his throat and looked Steve in the eye.

“I just wanted to, uh… apologize. For before, when I…”

“Kicked me in the stomach?” Steve supplied. “Broke a dinner plate on my head? Destroyed my face?”

Billy nodded slowly; the silver earring in his left ear glinted in the weak winter sunlight. “Yeah, well, like I said. I’m sorry about that. Things got out of hand.”

_What the hell? Is this a prank?_

“Are you in a goddamn twelve-step program or something? Save it, psycho. I’m really not in the mood.” Steve turned his back and stomped away. Within moments, however, he heard footsteps behind him.

_Unbelievable. Is he following me?_

“It’s not really destroyed, though. Your face, I mean.” Billy's voice had the deep, warm timbre of a late-night radio host. He seemed completely unfazed by Steve’s rebuff.

_Maybe if I just ignore him he’ll take the hint and get lost._

“It looks good,” Billy continued. “You really can’t tell anymore. I mean, it’s been over a month already.”

Steve paused at a stop sign, waiting for some cars to pass. “What’s your problem, man? Can you please just leave me the hell alone?”

“But—”

“But what?” Steve snapped impatiently.

“Look, I just wanted you to know I’m sorry. Really.” Billy looked down at his boots, scuffing the sidewalk. “I went a little crazy that night.”

“A little crazy?” Steve scoffed indignantly, stepping towards Billy and pointing in his face. “You went insane, pal. You scared the shit out of those kids. Your own sister had to play zookeeper and tranq you like a feral gorilla; I might’ve been a goner if she hadn’t jammed a syringe full of sedatives in your neck.”

Billy looked uncomfortable, but didn’t respond or raise his eyes. He only sighed and ran his fingers through his wavy, light brown hair.

Steve shook his head and crossed the street. He could hear Billy’s boots tapping rhythmically on the pavement a few paces behind him, and after a few moments he heard the metallic clink of a cigarette lighter.

_This guy is bizarre. I can’t tell what he’s thinking at all._

“So… you’re Mister Nice Guy now?” Steve asked aloud as he walked. He figured having a conversation with the weirdo was preferable to remaining silent while being followed.

“Fuck, no. I’m just not gonna beat the shit out of people who don’t deserve it, that’s all. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Yeah, well…” Steve sighed, gazing up at the grey winter sky. “I guess I wasn’t always so nice, myself. The only other time I’ve been clobbered like that, I deserved it.”

“You mean Byers? Didn’t you smash his camera? Spray-paint “Nancy is a slut” on the movie theater marquee?”

“That was… look, I replaced that camera, and I don’t hang out with those losers anymore. I helped clean up the graffiti, and…” Steve narrowed his eyes and looked back at Billy. “Wait, how do you even know all this? Your family just moved here a couple months ago.”

“Hard to keep secrets in small towns like this, man,” Billy shrugged, exhaling a plume of smoke. “And I’ve passed the time with a few chicks who like to gossip and imagine they know everything about everyone at Hawkins High. So they may have given me the 411 on you.”

Steve frowned, trying to picture it. “So you’d be on a date with some girl, talking about me? That’s a little…”

“Alright, smartass, don’t get cocky; you weren’t the exclusive topic of conversation. It’s not like we _discussed_ you at length, okay?”

“Really? Because it kinda sounds like it.” Steve stifled a laugh; listening to Billy Hargrove get defensive was surprisingly amusing.

“I can’t control what bitches want to chatter about. From what I hear, these Hawkins girls really used to be into you. So why is King Steve moping around town? ’Cause it bites to be alone during the holidays?”

_This asshole._

“Look, do me a favor just shut the hell up, okay? I’m not moping.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure. You seem real cheerful. That Nancy chick really messed you up, huh?”

“What? No, she’s… that’s not it. She’s happier now, and… we really don’t need to talk about this.”

“If you say so, buddy.”

“I just can’t see how it’s any of your business.”

Billy was quiet for a moment, smoking pensively as he followed a few paces paces behind; he kicked a small stone, sending it skittering down the sidewalk.

“Why do you seem so down in the dumps, then?”

“I’m _not_ , I said,” Steve muttered through gritted teeth. “Just slightly annoyed about having a chatty head case badgering me all the way home, that’s all.”

Steve turned onto his street; all his neighbors were indoors, out of sight. A couple of crows cawed at each other in the tree branches above them. He flinched when a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. He stopped walking but didn’t turn around.

“Seriously, what is your issue?” he asked irritably, shrugging off Billy’s hand. “You’ve already apologized. Message received.”

Billy flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk and crushed it with the toe of his boot.

“I’m not a head case. And you didn’t really accept my apology.”

“Alright, okay?” Steve shook his head incredulously. “You’re so goddamn persistent. If it’s that important, and you’re serious, I accept it.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve pantomimed a reverend waving his hand in absolution. “Now go forth and sin no more.”

He glanced over at his house. “Look, as much as I hate to cut this Kodak moment short, I’ve gotta go. My mom’s gonna kill me if I don’t get this to her.”

Unsure why he was offering proof, he pulled the little paper drugstore bag from his pocket and waved it at Billy; the pills rattled noisily.

“So this is where King Steve lives, huh?” Billy looked around and whistled. “Swanky digs. Anyway, thanks for hearing me out. I’ve got places to be, too, as it happens.”

He turned up the collar of his biker jacket and began walking away.

“Try not to mope too much,” he called over his shoulder. “Plenty of bitches in the sea, remember?”

_I try not to remember the weird shit you’ve said in the shower, actually._

“I remember.”

“Oh, and Harrington?”

“What now?”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that, somehow. “Yeah, you too.”

_What a strange day._

Steve stood at the foot of his driveway for a moment, watching Billy lope away. He might have imagined it, but he thought he could faintly hear him whistling ‘Blue Christmas’ all the way down the street, until he disappeared around the corner.


	2. Dancing With Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve just wanted to have a good time at the New Year's Eve party, but with a wasted Billy Hargrove in the mix, things get strange very quickly.

**Monday, December 31, 1984. 11pm.**  

Steve Harrington carefully maneuvered his BMW into a tight spot along a narrow, dark street. He switched off the ignition and leaned forward to inspect his hair in the rearview mirror. Much to his relief, the pimple that had appeared before Christmas had disappeared. 

He had arrived late on purpose; midnight was only an hour away. After wasting most of the evening deciding whether or not to go, he’d found himself driving across town to Sharon Johnson’s house party.

_It’s better than sitting on the couch with my parents, eating Chex Mix and waiting for the ball to drop on TV._

The last time he’d gone to a party like this, everything went as wrong as humanly possible. He had underestimated how much Barb’s death had affected Nancy. She got way too drunk, he spilled punch all over her white sweater, then she said their relationship was bullshit and she didn’t love him. Overall, it wasn’t a night he cared to remember.

_She probably won’t even be there; she wasn’t friends with Sharon. And her boyfriend doesn’t really seem like a party kind of guy._

Steve didn’t know Sharon especially well, either, but a party was a party and it was better than sitting at home. He locked his car and trudged up the sidewalk, looking for the right house. He didn’t have to look very long; music could be heard from a few houses down. As he approached the front porch, the door burst open and a couple staggered outside, laughing and holding onto each another as they hurried past him. 

“Hiiiii, Stevie! Whatcha getting here so late for?” Sharon Johnson loomed in the doorway, holding her arms out to him. 'Tainted Love' played loudly from a nearby room. “C’mon in out of the cold so I can shut this door.”

“Don’t call me Stevie,” he grumbled as she pulled him indoors and enveloped him in a hug; her brown hair, stiff and fragrant with hairspray, tickled his face. He pushed her away politely. “My mom calls me that.”

“Sure, whatever! Here, lemme get your coat.” Sharon smiled vapidly; there was some lipstick on her teeth. She kept chattering as she opened a nearby closet to hang up his peacoat. “Make yourself at home, okay? There’s plenty of beer in the kitchen. See you around, Stevie!”

The house felt oppressively warm after the frigid winter air outside; Steve was immediately uncomfortable in his dark grey merino sweater. He followed the music to a spacious living room, pausing in the doorway to look around. The room was packed with teenagers dancing, canoodling, and singing along to the music; the lights were dimmed, a disco ball hung from the ceiling and all the furniture had been pushed against the walls. 

_“This tainted love you’ve given, I gave you all a boy could give you, take my tears and that’s not nearly all…”_

He spotted Nancy across the room, smiling and dancing with Jonathan Byers. She tipped her head back and laughed at something he said, then reached up to twine her arms around his neck.

“Ah, young love,” a deep voice spoke suddenly in his ear. “Pining for the old days?”

Steve flinched and whirled around; Billy Hargrove had appeared behind him, leaning against the doorframe and smiling enigmatically. 

“Long time, no see, Harrington.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, regaining his composure. “What’s it been, a whole week?” 

Billy looked even flashier than usual in a dark red shirt unbuttoned to his navel and tucked into skin-tight black jeans. A thin chain glinted against the bare skin of his chest.

“It’ll be midnight soon,” Billy said, running his hand through his shaggy, golden brown hair. “I thought you were a no-show.” 

“You’ve been waiting for me or something?” 

“Hell, no,” Billy scoffed. “I just hadn’t seen you around. Are you avoiding your old flame?”

_I just got here and this guy is somehow already pissing me off._

“Nobody’s avoiding anyone. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

Together, they edged into the crowded room, trying unsuccessfully not to bump into people. The opening notes of a Depeche Mode song blasted from a boom box perched on the mantlepiece. 

_"When I’m with you baby, I go out of my head, and I just can’t get enough, I just can’t get enough…”_

“Who made this mix tape?” Steve bobbed his head along with the beat, determined to at least try to have a good time. “Takes me back to ’81, freshman year.”

_Parties aren’t so bad. This might even be fun._

Someone stepped on Steve’s foot and he stumbled backwards, wincing and muttering every swear word he knew under his breath.  

_Scratch that. Parties are the worst._

“Need a drink? I could use one, myself.” Billy reached out and tugged on the sleeve of his sweater. “C’mon, let’s drown our sorrows.”

“What sorrows? I’m fine.” But he followed Billy anyway, out of the mobbed living room and down a dark hallway to the kitchen; the reverberating beat of I Just Can’t Get Enough diminished, but remained audible even in the back of the house.

“Let’s see what we can scrounge up.” Billy winked at a gaggle of sophomore girls, who ran from the kitchen, giggling hysterically. Glancing around, he spotted a large cooler on the floor beneath the kitchen table; he crouched down to rummage around in the half-melted ice. 

_Those jeans are… obscenely tight. Not that I care. Just an observation._

 Billy stood and tossed him a can of beer, ice-cold and dripping wet.

“Cheers,” Steve said, clunking his can awkwardly against Billy’s. 

“What are we toasting?” Billy hopped up lightly and sat on the edge of the tiled counter, swinging his long legs and drumming his heels against the dishwasher.

“Um… the New Year, I guess.”

“Right, yeah.” Billy cracked open his beer and took a long swig. “May old acquaintances be forgot, and the coming year suck less than the current one, or however the song goes.”

“To 1985.” Steve looked down at his beer but didn’t open it; somehow, he simply wasn’t in the mood to get hammered tonight. 

A tipsy girl with purple eyeshadow and a big, blonde perm suddenly appeared in the doorway. 

“There you are! Whatcha doing in here all by yourself, Silly-Billy?” She grabbed Billy’s hand and began dragging him back towards the living room.

“Alright, relax, I’m coming.” He drained his beer, burping loudly as he crumpled the can and threw it effortlessly into the trash can across the room. “Catch you later, Harrington!”

Steve was left standing alone in the kitchen, listening to the distant, pulsing music and the hum of the refrigerator. He idly kicked an empty Cheez Ball canister that had fallen on the floor, and wondered why he had bothered coming. 

A boy wearing sunglasses burst into the kitchen, giving a squealing girl a piggyback ride. 

“Oh, hey Steve,” he panted, eyeing his beer. “Where’d you find that?”

“Here, you can have this one. There are more under the table over there.” 

“Really? Thanks, man!” The boy grinned, then leaned forward and whispered, “You got an extra rubber to spare, amigo?”

The girl on his back blushed, giggling so uncontrollably she nearly fell on the floor.

“Nope,” Steve muttered flatly on his way out of the kitchen. 

_I could just leave. Nobody would care._

He approached the living room warily; 'Dancing With Myself' was blaring from the boom box on the mantlepiece. He spotted Billy in the center of the crowd, dancing energetically with that blonde girl from a few minutes earlier; Steve had seen her around school, but couldn’t remember her name. 

_Tiffany, maybe. Pretty sure that’s it._

He edged around the perimeter of the living room, weaving his way slowly past couples drinking and making out on the couch. Through the tangle of dancing teenagers, he could see Tiffany shimmying up against Billy. She leaned up to kiss him, or maybe whisper in his ear; it was hard to tell from across the room, with so many people between them. 

_What am I doing, watching people like some kind of creep? I need to get out of here._

Suddenly, Steve heard a distinct slap; confused, he looked over in time to see Tiffany storming away angrily, shoving people aside and leaving Billy standing by himself in the center of the throng.

Billy rubbed his face and resumed dancing, apparently unfazed by the recent melodrama. He tilted his head back and took a long swig from a green glass bottle, his long hair tumbling back from his face and a lone earring glinting in his ear. 

Their eyes met over the sea of people; Billy danced his way over to the doorway where Steve was standing, bobbing his head to the music, one rogue curl bouncing against his sweaty forehead. His left cheek was noticeably pink where Tiffany had slapped him.

“Lovers' quarrel?” Steve almost had to shout to be heard over the stereo.

“Nah, nothing like that,” Billy said dismissively, edging closer to him and moving his hips along with the beat. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Steve said quickly, clearing his throat and looking down at the bottle of sparkling wine Billy was holding. “Where did you find that?”

“Want some?” Billy took another swig, then held it out. “No? Suit yourself. Listen, I’m going out for a smoke. It’s too damn hot in here. You coming?”

Unsure why, Steve followed him to the front closet and pulled out his coat; Billy slipped on his black leather jacket and patted the pockets for his pack of Marlboros. He tapped one out of the packet and tucked it behind his ear as they headed outside. 

The chilly December air was refreshing after the smothering warmth inside. They followed a winding brick pathway around the side of Sharon Johnson’s house and into the large back yard. 

“You sure you don’t want any of this champagne?” Billy asked, swaying along the path and nearly falling into a rosemary bush. “Not that much left.” 

“It’s not champagne, it’s sparkling wine.” 

“What the hell is the difference?” Billy set the bottle down on a patio table and walked across the back lawn, glancing around. “And why should I care?”

“If it wasn’t made in the Champagne region of France in a very specific way, it’s just sparkling wine.” 

“You don't say.” Billy stood in front of a tree, belched, and unzipped his fly. “That's really riveting stuff, Harrington.”

Steve grimaced when he heard the faint sound of urine splashing against the tree trunk. He turned away quickly and looked up at the black winter sky.

_How did I end up here, wasting New Year’s Eve with a drunk asshole from California?_

"Look at us, huh?” Billy returned, his speech slightly slurred. “A couple of sad bastards, all alone in this cold world. Utterly… unloveable.”

“God, how much have you had tonight?” Steve shook his head in disbelief. “And if you’re _that_ damn lonely, why don’t you go back in there and make up with what’s-her-name?”

“Who, Tiffany?” Billy scoffed. “I’m sick of these mediocre Hawkins sluts.”

“They’re not _all_ mediocre. Or sluts. Maybe just the ones you attract, _Silly-Billy_.”

“Very funny. Whether or not they’re sluts isn’t the point, Harrington.”

Billy took the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, inhaling deeply; the flame from the lighter briefly bathed his face in a warm, flickering glow. “Hey, can I tell you something?” 

“Sure…?” Mystified, Steve wondered why he suddenly looked so serious.

“That night, when I couldn’t stop hitting you… I’ve done a lot of inadvisable shit in my life, but I really regretted that. At the time, it felt like… I was hitting myself. I know how stupid that sounds, but... I dunno. I just hated myself so much. For being this way.”

_Slow down. What?_

“I wanted to obliterate it. Everything blurred together and I lost control. It’s hard to explain, and it’s not an excuse, but there you have it.” Billy exhaled slowly, gazing up at the plume of white smoke and watching it disappear in the limitless, star-flecked sky.

Steve stared at Billy, feeling bewildered and completely out of his element. “Jeez, there’s no reason to hate yourself, and you already apologized, remember?” 

_This is so bizarre..._

The music was abruptly turned off and they could faintly hear Sharon screech, “Alright, everyone! Hey, guys! Everyone, shut _up_ , it’s _time_!”

Voices from within the house began to count down in unison.

 _"Ten, nine_ …”

“Doing _what_ to yourself?" Steve demanded. "Being… what way?”

_“Eight, seven, six…”_

Billy smoked pensively, looking forlornly at the illuminated windows and the revelry within. “It’s lonely as hell, not having anyone on New Year’s Eve.” 

“ _Five, four_ …”

“Billy, I don’t know what you—”

“Christ, Harrington.” He flicked his cigarette onto the lawn and scowled at Steve. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“ _Three, two, one… Happy New Year!”_

Billy reached out and grabbed Steve by the lapels of his wool coat, tugging him close and pressing their mouths together. His lips were chapped and he tasted like wine and cigarettes. 

“What the—” Steve jerked away in surprise and stepped back quickly, nearly tripping over a potted plant.

He felt like his brain had blown a fuse. Distantly aware of people cheering, he could see the silhouettes of couples embracing and raising toasts through the window. Someone started singing a spirited, off-key rendition of Auld Lang Syne.

“Well, happy fucking New Year,” Billy mumbled, picking up the champagne bottle and taking a long swig. 

_Did that really just happen? Am I hallucinating?_

“See, this is why I hate myself,” Billy said morosely. “Shit like this.”

In the glow from the porch light, his long eyelashes cast dark shadows over his eyes and his cheeks looked rosier than usual. 

_Is he… embarrassed?_

“I ruin things. It’s what I do best, just ask my old man.”

_No fucking way. I thought this guy was cocky machismo, personified._

Steve cleared his throat nervously and ran his fingers through his hair, choosing his words cautiously.

“Nothing has to be… _ruined_ , Billy.”

Billy looked down at the bottle in his hand and sighed. 

“Look, it’s okay if you think I’m gross. I think so, too, as it happens.”

“You’re not gross.” 

“Thanks.” Billy rolled his eyes and tipped his head back, draining the bottle. "But I'd appreciate it if you could just forget all this."

“Holy crap, you finished the whole thing.” Steve reached out. “Can I see it?”

Their cold fingers brushed together and Billy withdrew his hand quickly, looking uncomfortable.

_Jesus, he might’ve been serious. This is so weird._

Steve took aim and flung the bottle towards a metal trash can several yards away, where it smashed loudly against the rim.

“Amateur,” scoffed Billy. “I would’ve nailed that.”

“Oh, yeah? Too bad we don’t have another bottle, so you can put your money where your mouth is.”

They stood there looking at each other awkwardly for a few moments. A dog barked in a neighboring yard and the cold air smelled like chimney smoke.  

“It’s… not a no, okay?” Steve blurted.

_Oh, fuck. Why did I say that?_

Billy was quiet for a few moments. “Well, what the hell does _that_ mean?”

“I... I dunno man, you started it.” Steve felt his cheeks growing hot; confused and self-conscious, he wanted nothing more than to change the subject. “Look, just cool your jets, okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy said quietly, his expression inscrutable in the dark. “Yeah, I got it.”

Suddenly the back door burst open, flooding the back yard with light; a girl staggered out, leaned over the porch railing and vomited loudly on Mrs. Johnson’s rose bushes. 

“Lovely,” Billy said languidly. “Guess we’ve officially reached _that_ phase of the party.”

With the door open, the sounds of people chattering and 'Smalltown Boy' by Bronski Beat poured out into the back yard; it wasn’t quite loud enough to disguise the retching and coughing from the girl on the patio.

"I think that’s my cue to leave,” Steve muttered, squinting at the display on his watch as he headed back the way they came. “I’m getting out of here before anyone else comes out to ralph.”

Walking around the side of the house, he hummed along with the harmonized bridge.

_“Cry, boy, cry... Cry, boy, cry..."_

"Your voice isn't half-bad, Harrington," Billy remarked as he followed behind Steve, bobbing his head along to the beat. "You should join the school glee club or something."

Steve smirked at the thought. "I've got less than a semester left, so even if I _wanted_ to commit social suicide, there wouldn't be any point."

“I can sing, too... And play the piano, kinda." 

"Seriously?”

“What, you don't believe me?” Billy's speech was slightly slurred. “I used to sing in the church youth choir and all that shit...”

“Oh yeah?” Steve choked back laughter at the thought of tough-as-nails Billy Hargrove wearing a choir robe and singing hymns. “Back in California?”

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have told you that,” Billy muttered drunkenly. “Shouldn’t... shouldn't've told you a _lotta_ things…”

_Shit. Let’s not talk about that right now, my brain hasn't had time to process it yet._

They crossed the Johnson’s front lawn and hopped over a flower bed onto the sidewalk, pausing near the driveway; music could be heard thrumming faintly from within the house. 

Steve frowned when he noticed Billy fumbling in his jacket pockets for his keys. “You’re not thinking of driving home like that, are you?”

“Like what?”

“You’re trashed, man... your Camaro will still be here in the morning.”

“Jesus... you my mother or something?” Billy scoffed, smiling triumphantly when he finally located his keys in the pocket of his jeans. “My goddamn guardian angel?”

“Well, _someone’s_ gotta keep you from wrapping your car around a tree.”

“Nobody would care... and I'm not even that drunk.” Billy twirled his keys around on his index finger, cursing when they flew off onto the sidewalk. 

Steve rolled his eyes at his inebriated companion. “Listen, man... where do you live?”

“Up Old Cherry Road. Why, are you gonna give me a ride?”

“Maybe.” Steve turned and started walking towards his car. A few of the houses had left their Christmas lights on; he recalled that he’d parked in front of a house with a large plastic snowman on the front lawn. He could hear Billy following along behind him.

“Whatever, let’s just get away from this dump.”

Once in the passenger seat, Billy glanced around the car interior and whistled.

“I’ve never been in a fancy-pants BMW before.”

“Just remember,” Steve warned as he turned his keys in the ignition. “You puke in my car, you’re dead meat.”

He cranked up the heater and set off towards Old Cherry Road, about a mile away. The streets were mostly deserted at this hour, and all the shops were closed. The Cure tape he’d left in the player resumed where it had left off, halfway through All Cats Are Grey. He pressed rewind, returning the tape to the beginning of the song.

Billy pulled out his pack of cigarettes and tapped one out.

“Can you please not do that right now?”

“Fine,” Billy stuffed the Marlboros back in his pocket with a resigned sigh. “You listen to unexpectedly depressing music, Harrington.”

_Just ignore him._

“And you drive like my grandmother.”

_Damn this drunk, mulleted brat._

“If you’ve got a problem with it, want me to pull over so you can take a hike?”

“No,” Billy mumbled. He sat with his legs folded up against his chest, hugging his knees and looking out the window. It seemed oddly childlike and uncharacteristic, and Steve was reminded, for what felt like the fiftieth time, that he didn’t really know anything about this strange, tempestuous young man.

_I can’t decide if I hate him or not._

They sat in silence for a few minutes; Steve kept his eyes on the road, squinting as he read the passing street signs in the dark and trying not to get lost.

“Make a left at that sign. Now keep going straight until… there it is. Stop.” 

Steve pulled over in front of a modest house with an enclosed porch, surrounded by trees.

Billy got out of the car and stretched, leaving the passenger door hanging open; his red shirt rose slightly as he lifted his arms over his head, revealing a glimpse of bare skin above the waistband of his jeans. 

 _God, he’s aggravating._  

“Hang on,” Steve called after him, swallowing hesitantly. Chilly air seeped into the car and made him shiver. “Do you, um…”

_Wait… what am I saying?_

“Yeah?” Billy bent down to look at Steve, his blue eyes drowsy and slightly bloodshot. 

“Are you… do you have plans for Friday?”

Billy stared at him blankly for a few seconds before answering.

“Not really. Why?”

“Want to go to the record store downtown?” Steve asked, trying to sound nonchalant and hoping his face wasn’t red. “You need to expand your musical horizons... there's more to life than Metallica and Ted Nugent.”

“Sure,” Billy shrugged. “The one on Main Street, right? What time?”

_Shit, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Six? No, the afternoon would be better. Less… date-like._

“Um, two o’clock?” 

“Yeah, okay. You want to meet there, or what?”

“Yep,” Steve responded hastily. “Meeting there is good.”

_One of us picking the other up would definitely be too date-like._

“Alright, guess I’ll see you then.” Billy paused before shutting the car door, an indecipherable look on his face. “Oh, and thanks for the lift, man. Really.” 

As Steve drove away, he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and his hands shook. He hadn’t felt so terrified since he had battled those demodog creatures from the Upside Down.

_What the hell am I getting myself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for your kind, supportive comments and kudos; they keep me going! This is my first fanfic so I'm overwhelmed and tickled pink by the positive response my silly little story has gotten. :)


	3. Boys Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, Billy and Steve's first outing together doesn't go quite as planned.

**Friday, January 4, 1985. 2:05pm.**

This time of year had always depressed Steve. People put their festive decorations away and left their brown Christmas trees out by the curb to be picked up by the garbage man. The sky was nearly always grey, it was freezing cold, and everyone seemed a little grumpier than usual: kids had gotten bored of their new toys and didn’t want to go back to school, while adults scowled over how much they’d spent and their already-failed New Year’s resolutions.

He didn’t mind that school was starting next week; in fact, he craved the distraction. Christmas break had passed in such a surreal, confusing blur that he welcomed the thought of having to worry about mundane things like grades and exams again. It would be better than worrying about...  _other_ things.

_It’s not a date. Guys can hang out together without it being a date, right?_

Steve checked his watch; he was aiming to be about five minutes late to avoid looking too enthusiastic, or like a punctuality-obsessed square. As he walked slowly from the parking lot to the Hawkins record store, he glanced surreptitiously at his reflection in a window. He’d die before admitting it to anyone, but he’d been fussing with his hair all morning, trying out slightly different styles and thinking each one looked more stupid than the last. 

_Don’t be an idiot. It looks fine._

A bell on the shop door clanged as he entered; a middle-aged man with a beard and a Van Halen t-shirt greeted him from behind the counter. A small television in the corner was tuned to MTV and played ‘I Melt With You’.

Steve glanced around, but couldn’t see Billy anywhere. He made his way slowly down the center aisle; there were only a few other patrons in the store, flipping silently through crates of records. Steve made his way towards the back of the shop, and was soon engrossed with the numerous shelves of neatly organized cassette tapes. 

_New Order, The Smiths, Adam Ant, The Cure, Depeche Mode… my own little slice of heaven._

Suddenly, cold fingers smelling faintly of cigarettes closed over his eyes.

“Hey,” he sighed, reaching up to pry Billy’s hands off his face. 

“Hey, yourself. You been waiting long?” Billy stood back and folded his arms against his chest; his cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink from the cold outside. He was wearing his denim jacket over a black hooded sweatshirt, as well as a pair of black fingerless gloves. He looked different with a black knit cap pulled down to his ears, and without his usual silver earring.

“No, I just got here,” Steve said, eyeing the small section of compact discs. He spotted a Simple Minds album and flipped it over to read the track list, grateful for the distraction. He was determined not to make a fool of himself.

“You have a CD player?” Billy asked, raising his eyebrows incredulously. “I’ve never even _seen_ one up close.”

“Well, my parents gave me one for Christmas, so… yeah.”

“They’re expensive as hell, though,” Billy said as he reached over and plucked the CD from Steve’s hand. “Twenty-four dollars for this? Jesus, is it gold-plated?”

Steve snatched back the CD and replaced it on the shelf. He felt oddly guilty, realizing that buying a $500 compact disc player was likely beyond the means of Billy’s household. He decided not to mention that his family now owned two.

“Alright, forget CDs. Do you listen to vinyl?”

“Not really. I've got a record player, but I think it got busted when we moved... something fell on it in the stupid van.”

“Okay, so just tapes, then. Have you listened to The Cure?”

“Sure, they’re okay.” Billy shrugged. “I only know a couple of songs, though. The ones you hear on the radio.”

Steve considered which songs he might know. “‘Let’s Go To Bed’?”

Billy looked up sharply. “Huh?” 

“You know, the song..." Steve hummed a few bars of the upbeat tune for him.

“Oh, right,” Billy said, chuckling self-consciously. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one. And, uh... 'Boys Don’t Cry'. But that’s about it.”

“That’s one of my favorites; it takes me back to junior high. Oh, and ‘A Forest’, too, that one's really good. It’s impossible to choose a favorite, to be honest…” 

 _Shut up and stop being boring_.

Steve knelt down to get a closer look at the store’s selection of The Cure cassettes, deciding which one might be the best introduction for someone like Billy Hargrove.

“I have this one,” Billy said, wandering down the aisle and pointing to a Toto tape. “That song, 'Rosanna', is catchy as hell... don't tell anyone I said that, okay?”

“Here we go!” Steve straightened suddenly, triumphantly holding up a cassette tape. “'Pornography', that’s what you need.”

“What?” Billy whirled around, looking confused. “Oh... goddamnit, stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing,” Billy said hastily, glancing around. “Is there a used section in here?”

“Um, I have no idea, actually,” Steve mumbled distractedly, moving father down the aisle and looking for the New Order tapes. “You could ask Chuck, the guy at the front.”

“Right, I forgot. People like you don’t buy anything used, except when it's more expensive than buying something new, like antique shit and vintage cars.”

“Whoa, ‘people like me’? Where did that come from?” Steve stared at Billy, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. “There’s no need to be so hostile about it, jeez.”

“Sorry,” Billy mumbled as he headed down a different aisle. “I think I see a sign over here.”

_Why is this guy so touchy and weird?_

After browsing for another twenty minutes, Steve ended up buying three cassettes for Billy, and one for himself. At the counter, Steve had ignored Billy’s protestations and insisted on paying for everything himself.

“Put your money away. No, seriously. I mean it.”

“Fine,” Billy tucked his wallet back into his jacket pocket. “And thanks. But don’t think I’ll be letting you pay for lunch.”

“Lunch? It’s almost three o’clock.”

Billy looked down quickly. “Well, if you already ate…”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Steve said quickly, noting Billy’s poorly disguised disappointment. “I haven’t had lunch yet, actually.”

 _Because I’ve been too keyed-up to eat anything today_.

After leaving the record store, they went to the parking lot to stash the new cassettes in their respective cars. Steve asked him where he wanted to go eat, and Billy suggested the hamburger joint across the street. 

The deceptively named 'Burger Castle' was actually a tiny establishment with only a few tables; it didn't look very impressive, but the smell of French fries and charbroiled meat scented the air and made Steve’s stomach growl. 

When he tried to pay for his own order, Billy elbowed him roughly out of the way.

“For fuck’s sake, I _said_ I’ve got it.” Billy slapped a five-dollar bill on the counter. “We’ll have two number one combos, with Cokes.” 

Burger Castle appeared to be manned entirely by one employee: a portly, humorless man wearing an orange baseball cap and a grease-stained apron. He bustled off to make their food, and they found an unoccupied, cleanish table with white plastic chairs where they waited for their order. 

“Was that really so hard? You think I can’t afford to buy someone a hamburger?” Billy pulled off his gloves and leaned slowly across the table. “Or are you afraid someone’s gonna think we’re on a date?”

“No,” Steve muttered under his breath. “But keep your voice down, just the same.”

Billy slumped back in his chair, pulling out his cigarettes and fiddling absentmindedly with them on his lap.

“So, just out of curiosity… _are_ we?” Billy asked quietly without looking up, his blue eyes shrouded by the thick black fringe of his lashes. 

“Are we what?”

“On a date,” Billy hissed impatiently. “God, you’re dense.”

_Do we have to have this conversation now?_

“I don’t know,” Steve muttered, glancing around furtively and feeling mildly panicked. He was pretty certain he was blushing like an idiot. “I mean, how does one really define a da—”

“Look, forget I said anything, okay?” Billy cut him off sharply. “I didn’t mean are we gonna sit here staring into each other’s souls and slurping on the same goddamn piece of spaghetti, listening to some chump serenade us and shit.”

An image of the greasy fry cook playing the accordion and singing 'Bella Notte' came to mind, and Steve tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. 

Billy scowled at him as he laughed. “I’m serious, here.”

“Serious people don’t make 'Lady and the Tramp' references.”

“What?” Billy bristled indignantly. “It was one of my favorite movies when I was a little kid.”

“Really? Why?”

“The Siamese cats,” Billy admitted with a shrug. “I liked those sneaky vandals, fucking shit up and getting away with it.”

Steve was still laughing at him. “I like that you don’t need to be drunk to volunteer embarrassing information about yourself, apparently... that's good to know.”

“Shut up.”

Steve might not be a genius, but he wasn't dense; he knew what Billy had meant earlier, but couldn’t bring himself to say it yet. Not out loud, anyway. It felt like too much, too fast. 

_It’s... it's a fucking date, okay?_

He hated to admit it, but there was also a small, petty part of him that took pleasure in pressing Billy’s buttons and watching him struggle to maintain his cool façade. 

The cook called their number, and they hastened to the counter to retrieve their orders. Billy had finished half his fries by the time they walked back to their little table; he chatted affably between mouthfuls of cheeseburger. Steve wasn’t bored, yet found it strangely difficult to focus on the conversation. He was preoccupied with trying not to notice the way Billy licked salt from his lips and ketchup from his fingers, or how his mouth pursed around his straw to sip his Coke.

_What the hell is a guy doing with lips like that?_

........................................................................

 

After finishing their late lunch, Billy and Steve ambled aimlessly up Main Street, talking and occasionally looking in the shop windows.

“How’s Max?” Steve asked, suddenly remembering Billy’s redheaded step-sister. “She seemed like a cool little kid.”

“She’s alright,” Billy answered succinctly, slurping the last of his pop. "Less annoying these days."

“I hope you’re being nicer to her. And Lucas.”

Billy tossed his empty pop cup into a nearby trash can and didn’t reply.

“I’m serious, man." Steve narrowed his eyes. "You can’t be a dick to those kids, alright?” 

“ _Alright_ , goddamnit. Get off my case.” Billy sighed heavily and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I'll take it easy on her.”

Steve glanced over sharply. “And Lucas Sinclair?”

“What about him?” Billy said distractedly as they walked past a pet store; orange and black kittens frolicked in the window display. “Aw, jeez, look how cute these guys are.”

“You’re gonna stop giving him a hard time, right?” Steve refused to drop the issue; it wasn't negotiable. 

“Why should I be nice to a kid who wants to bone my sister?”

Steve made a face. “God, they’re only thirteen.”

“Oh, so you weren’t getting any in junior high? No action whatsoever?”

“That’s not the point,” Steve said impatiently. “It’s just—”

“What the hell is this all of a sudden?” Billy interrupted, scowling defensively and pulling out his pack of Marlboros. 

“If you and I are gonna be… hanging out more often, you can’t terrorize those kids. Especially Lucas. That’s just the way it is.” 

Billy was quiet for a minute as they continued down the street. 

"It's a 'yes' or 'no' question with only one right answer." Steve was getting exasperated.

_I can't be with a guy who scares my kids. Those kids, I mean._

“Okay, I got it,” Billy mumbled at last, looking somewhat chastened as he put his cigarettes away.

Steve sighed. “I didn’t mean to get heavy on you, but it’s something I just had to say. You want to be a hardass to me, that’s fine, but don’t be like that around them; they’re just kids.”

“I _said_ okay,” Billy snapped. “I’ll be sweet as fucking pie to those bratty nerds, Sinclair included, if that’s what it takes to get you to shut up about it.”

“That’s all it takes,” Steve said, trying not to smile. 

_Good boy._

They passed a large, densely wooded public park; on such a frigid day, with sunset fast approaching, they seemed to have the place entirely to themselves. It had been a while since they had seen so much as a passing car or pedestrian.

“I wonder if there’s a playground,” Billy said suddenly, gazing off towards the trees.

“What, seriously?” Steve chuckled, reaching out to punch his shoulder playfully. “How old are you, again? It’s freezing and getting dark but this guy wants to go on the damn see-saw.”

Billy tried to hit him back, but Steve darted under his arm and yanked his beanie off. His long, wavy hair was comically flattened and mussed; he cursed as Steve ran down the sidewalk, taunting him over his shoulder. Billy caught up quickly and snatched back his hat, tugging it on with a scowl as Steve laughed.

A GMC pickup truck drove by slowly, then suddenly screeched to a halt a few yards ahead of them.

“What the hell…?” Steve glanced at Billy.

The truck began to reverse towards them.

“Oh, shit. “ Billy muttered tensely, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“ _Who_ , goddamnit?” Steve demanded, looking warily at the truck as it pulled up to the curb. It had California plates, just like Billy’s Camaro.

A tall man with a light brown moustache slammed his door and strode towards them angrily.

_Wait, is that his dad?_

“Hey!” the man barked angrily. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, boy, but you’d better go home now.”

_Whoa, scary._

“I’m busy,” Billy called, scowling and stepping back. “I’ll be home later.”

“Busy, huh?” Mr. Hargrove said darkly, narrowing his eyes and glancing suspiciously at Steve. “Yeah, I bet you are.” 

_What the hell is going on?_

“Dad, don’t—”

“Do you have any idea what you look like, parading along Main Street where anyone could see you?” 

Steve cleared his throat uneasily. “Mr. Hargrove, I’m not sure what we’ve done to offend you. We were just walking, and—”

“I don’t think anybody asked you to speak, shitstain.”

“Hey!” Billy yelled, springing forward and getting in his father’s face. “Don’t talk to him like that!”

“Keep your voice down, for crying out loud,” Mr. Hargrove hissed, glancing around for witnesses or eavesdroppers, even though the street was deserted. His eyes were a lighter, colder blue than his son’s; they looked manic and bloodshot, as though he’d been drinking.

Billy frowned, sniffing the air between them distastefully. “Don’t you think it’s a tad early to be getting shitfaced, old man?”

“You’d better watch your mouth, you disrespectful little shit.” Mr. Hargrove jabbed his finger against Billy’s chest. “If you think I’m gonna listen to any more backtalk from—”

“You are, I can smell it,” Billy jeered, his eyes fiercely defiant. “Why are you getting plastered this early on a weekday, huh? You get a pink-slip, Pop?”

Mr. Hargrove flushed with fury and shoved Billy so hard he went sprawling back onto the sidewalk; fortunately, his head hit the grass, not the pavement.

_Oh, hell no._

“I’m sick of your bullshit, kid. You think life is a goddamn joke?”

“No,” Billy muttered darkly, rising slowly to his feet. “But I think _you_ are.”

Sensing imminent bloodshed, Steve quickly moved between them and reached out to grasp Mr. Hargrove’s arm. 

_This crazy asshole is spoiling everything._

“Look, _sir_ , I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but—”

“Don’t touch me!” Neil Hargrove jerked away, brushing off his arm and glaring at the pair of boys with loathing in his eyes. ”You queers make me sick.”

A dull, sickening realization dawned on Steve. To him, there was a strange, unpleasant novelty in being called a queer, but he suspected this was probably not Billy’s first time hearing the word. Mr. Hargrove seemed awfully comfortable using that type of language.

“I’m not sticking around to listen to any more of this.” Steve reached out to grab Billy’s wrist. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Billy didn’t move; his fists were clenched at his sides and his face was frozen in a mask of pure hatred.

“No, stick around. Let’s have a little _chat_ ,” Mr. Hargrove spat the last word. He glanced from Steve to Billy, a sinister smile creeping across his face. “So… who’s the girl in this unnatural twosome?”

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake._  

“Is it you?” Mr. Hargrove leaned closer to Billy, his voice lowering to a dangerously quiet snarl. “Is my only son spreading his legs like a bitch for some trust-fund faggot?” 

“Shut up!” Billy screamed in his father’s face; his fist snapped back, quick as lightning, and the blow connected with an alarming crunch, sending Mr. Hargrove staggering.

“Goddamnit…” He groaned and clutched his face; blood dripped from between his fingers. He retreated a few steps back towards his car, wincing and muttering curses. 

“Why don’t you go get that looked at,” Steve called after him, unconsciously pulling Billy by the hand until he was standing right next to him. “And leave us the _fuck_ alone!”

Mr. Hargrove spat a glob of phlegm and blood on the sidewalk and pointed a shaking finger at them. “I don’t ever want to see either of you again. I hope you get AIDS, you goddamn lousy punks…”

Grumbling angrily to himself, Neil Hargrove returned to his truck, slammed the door with a loud bang and sped away, his tires peeling shrilly against the pavement. They watched until his taillights disappeared around a bend in the road. 

Steve exhaled slowly, his heart still pounding. He glanced over at Billy, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound corny or patronizing. Billy blinked back tears and turned his face away.

When Steve suddenly realized he was still squeezing his hand, he let go quickly. Billy wordlessly turned and took off across the grass, weaving his way between the trees and occasionally kicking a cluster of dead leaves. Steve followed at a respectful distance, unsure whether Billy wanted to be left alone or not. A small, guilty part of him was aware that he could just say goodbye at this point and leave. He didn’t owe Billy Hargrove anything, and he wanted nothing to do with his psychotic father; he could simply walk back to his car and try to forget about this crazy day. 

_It's too late for that now; I'm in too deep._

The park was cold and deserted, and the only sounds Steve could hear were birdsong and dry leaves crunching underfoot. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dead grass; hazy rays of light filtered weakly through the trees. 

He followed Billy to a large clearing with a children’s playground and watched him sit down on a swing, scuffing his boots angrily in the furrowed dirt. He pulled out a cigarette and tried to light it, but his hands were trembling so much that he ended up flinging it away in frustration.

“Hey.” Steve approached slowly and stuck his foot out, poking Billy’s knee with the toe of his sneaker. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t look at me. I’ll be fine in a minute.” He sniffled and wiped his nose roughly with the back of his sleeve, looking down at his lap. “God, this sucks… so fucking embarrassing.”

“Hey,” Steve repeated quietly, extending his hand cautiously to tilt up Billy’s chin. “It’s okay, all right? It’s just me.” 

Billy flinched at his touch and grabbed Steve’s wrist, looking up at him with unguarded blue eyes; tears clung to his long, black lashes. He drew short, shaky breaths and his lower lip quivered. 

_Beautiful..._

Steve traced his thumb along Billy’s jawline, then bent down swiftly and kissed him. Their lips lingered together for just a moment before Steve withdrew, looking away at the darkening sky and nervously running a hand through his hair.

Billy seemed lost for words. A sudden gust of wind sent dry leaves fluttering around their feet. 

_God, this is awkward._

Steve cleared his throat and fiddled with the ends of his scarf uneasily, wondering if he’d done something stupid.

_Say something._

“So, uh... how long has he been like that?”

Billy shook his head and exhaled slowly, taking a few moments to respond.

“He’s always been strict, but it’s gotten worse since we moved. I think he hates his new job, and he’s been drinking more.”

“You think he really got fired, or were you just riling him up?”

“I dunno, maybe. I don’t give a shit, frankly.” 

The frigid breeze intensified, and Billy shivered in his denim jacket. He tugged his knit cap down, then pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt. A few light-brown, wavy locks of hair peeked out from under his cap, and his nose and ears were a delicate shade of pink.

“Jesus, it’s cold.” He sniffled again and hopped up from his swing, cupping his hands over his mouth to heat them up. “Let’s head back before my balls get frostbite and fall off.”

Instinctively, Steve shrugged off his wool peacoat and reached over to drape it over Billy’s shoulders. 

“Thanks,” Billy mumbled, pulling it closer around him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re not used to our invigorating Indiana winters yet.” Steve could already feel the bitter cold seeping through his thick, cable-knit sweater; he walked briskly to keep warm. “And that’s not how frostbite works; it affects the... you know, the extremities, or whatever. Like the tip of your nose.”

Billy rolled his eyes. The coat looked better on him, to Steve's mild annoyance.

“I still can’t believe he said all that shit in front of you,” Billy said as they left the park and headed back down Main Street. “I’m… really sorry you had to see that.”

“Well, I’m only sorry that I didn’t have my bat with me. That would’ve made him see sense.”

“It scared the shit out of me, that’s for damn sure.”

“When?” Steve asked, puzzled. “I didn't use it on you.”

“Oh, that’s right. You were unconscious at the time. Again, my apologies.” Billy chuckled sheepishly. “Well, Max almost pulverized my junk with it after I knocked you out.” 

“She did, huh? I’ll have to send her a thank-you note.” Steve paused as something else occurred to him. “Hey, are you sure Max and her mom are okay? Is he… scary like that around them?”

Billy shook his head. “He _likes_ Max and Susan. I’m the one he can’t stand.”

“Well, I’m glad you clocked him good and hard, for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah,” Billy chuckled, rubbing the knuckles on his right fist through his glove. “He might really go to the hospital; I think I felt his nose break.”

It was gradually dawning on Steve that he had taken his parents normalcy for granted his entire life. They weren’t perfect, but neither of them had ever put him through anything close to what he had witnessed fifteen minutes earlier. He had to admit that his home life seemed positively idyllic when compared to Billy’s.

“Well, what are you gonna do?” Steve asked, concerned. “You can’t go home with that maniac around.” 

Billy sighed and looked up at the darkening sky. “So, here’s what I’m thinking: if he has to go get his stupid old face patched up, that buys me a couple hours to stop by the house and grab some of my stuff. I can sleep in my car for a couple nights until I figure something—”

“What, and freeze to death? It’s, like, twenty degrees out!” Steve shook his head incredulously, his mind working quickly. “No, you’re coming with me.”

“What?”

_Yeah, what?_

Steve felt like he could no longer control the words coming from his mouth; they tumbled out, tripping over one another, earnest and unrehearsed.

“Sure, my parents won’t mind. The couch in our den is pretty comfy. Comfier than sleeping in the Camaro and getting hypothermia, anyway. And it’s only temporary, after all.” 

_Did I just invite Billy Hargrove to sleep over at my house? Hell has frozen over._

“I don’t know,” Billy frowned uncertainly, looking down at his feet. “You _sure_ your folks won’t care? I wouldn’t expect them to like me much after I did that to your face—”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Steve insisted. “And they don’t know it was you, so if you don’t mention it they’ll be none the wiser, and… look, don’t do anything stupid like try to sleep in your car, okay?”

He wasn’t completely sure his parents would be fine with the arrangement, actually, but it was a risk he was willing to take. At least so Billy would have somewhere to sleep tonight. He might not survive a second encounter with his father.

Billy seemed bewildered, and they continued down Main Street in silence. There were only a few cars in the parking lot when they rounded the corner behind the record store; the sun had set behind the surrounding buildings. Steve noticed Billy fiddling with his package of Marlboros again. 

“Just have a damn smoke, already,” he said, exasperated. “What, are you trying to quit or something?”

“Maybe,” Billy said defensively, hastily tucking them back in his pocket. “And you’d have a cow if I smoked in your nice coat, right? You think it stinks.”

"I used to smoke, you know. Occasionally, at parties."

"What, back in your Keg King days? I've never seen you with a cigarette."

"I said _used_ to. The point is, I don't really mind that much."

“Since we're on friendlier terms now," Billy continued, "I don't want you to think my mouth tastes like—”

“H-hey there, whoa… what?” Steve stammered. “ _Friendlier_?”

Billy glanced around, as though checking to see if the coast was clear. The sky was dark and the air was getting chillier; the parking lot was completely deserted. An ambulance siren wailed somewhere in the distance. He leaned over and kissed Steve clumsily on the cheek, near the corner of his mouth. His face was cold but his lips were warm, and he drew back slowly, looking bashfully at Steve.

“It’s okay to do that now, right?”

_Holy shit._

“Yeah,” Steve mumbled, his cheeks growing warm. “I guess it’s… it’s okay.”

“See? _Friendlier_.” Billy winked and slid into his Camaro; he rummaged in his record store bag and held up his new cassette tape. “Thanks again for this; I’ll give it a listen on the ride home. ” 

“No problem. I hope you like it.” 

“It can’t be too bad, with a name like 'Pornography.'” Billy waggled his eyebrows and smirked lewdly.

“I’m not crazy about _all_ the songs, but I’d buy it for ‘A Strange Day’ alone,” Steve rambled nervously, looking past him and trying not to think about the feel of his lips. “It’s the second track on side B.”

“Sounds like a perfect song for today,” Billy said, pausing before shutting his car door. “Oh, and… do you want this back?” 

He was still wearing the borrowed black coat.

“You hang onto it,” Steve suggested. “Won’t I be seeing you later tonight, anyway?”

“Right,” Billy said brightly. “I almost forgot. Well, this should be interesting. See you soon, Harrington.”

Steve sat behind the wheel of his car for a full ten minutes after Billy had driven away, staring blankly out the windshield and listening to his new Depeche Mode tape. He shivered, despite the warmth from the heater enveloping him like a blanket. 

_He’s nothing but trouble but… goddamn it, he’s cute._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my little story. Your kudos and comments are appreciated; I enjoy reading your kind notes of encouragement. I am working on chapter four and hope to share it with you by the end of November '17.


	4. Dreams Never End

**Prologue**

It had been a very strange week. Not Upside-Down strange, but pretty close, as far as Steve was concerned.

Last Friday, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington had been shocked upon returning home from the movie theater to find an unfamiliar youth with long, shaggy hair and an earring curled up on their living room sofa. After listening to Steve's appeal, they reluctantly agreed to house his friend for just one night.

That changed the following afternoon, when they received a telephone call from Chief Hopper. He’d been searching for Billy Hargrove all over town and urgently needed to tell him that his father had skidded off a bridge while driving drunk the previous evening. Neil Hargrove was pronounced dead upon arrival at Hawkins General Hospital. Mrs. Harrington, with sympathetic tears in her eyes, said Billy could stay as long as he liked. 

On Sunday, Billy said he was going to get more things from his house, but ended up staying out most of the day. He insisted he was fine when asked about his father. Late that night, they ran into each other in the hallway; Billy was fresh from the shower and was only wearing pajama bottoms, slung low on his hips. He winked as he walked past. Much to his embarrassment, Steve had a wet dream that night for the first time since junior high.   

On Monday, he successfully avoided Billy most of the day, until gym class. Coach was strict about showering, so they had no choice. He turned the tap on cold to prevent a hard-on, miraculously managing to avoid looking below Billy’s waist. This would become his daily gym routine. 

On Tuesday, they worked on some homework after school, but it was difficult to focus when Billy began playing footsie under the dining room table. Steve was torn between wanting to throw his physics textbook at Billy’s head and wishing he had the guts to just tackle him to the floor and tear off his clothes. He didn’t do either, since Mrs. Harrington came home from shopping and told the boys to go bring in all the groceries from the car.

On Wednesday morning, Steve masturbated twice in the shower and couldn’t meet Billy’s eyes the rest of the day. That night, they stayed up late watching reruns on TV, and somehow ended up kissing on the couch. Steve panicked when Billy slid his hand up his leg, hastily saying good night and retreating upstairs. 

On Thursday, Billy spoke to his stepmother on the phone, and informed her that he had no intention of attending his father’s memorial service that weekend and no immediate plans to return to the little house on Old Cherry Road. Mrs. Hargrove was disappointed but not surprised. Billy packed a small satchel and drove off, saying he’d be back later. That night, Steve’s parents reminded him that they were leaving for Hawaii the following day for a nice twentieth anniversary weekend; they told him sternly that there were to be _no_ parties or shenanigans of any kind during their absence.

On Friday morning, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington departed for the airport. Steve went through the motions of his school day robotically, and when he came home he busied himself with studying and listening to music in his room. When the phone rang at 11pm, he nearly fell down the stairs in his haste to answer it; sure enough, Billy was on the line. He was calling from a payphone in Chicago, and despite the crackly connection, Steve could hear him promise that he’d be home the next morning, and he was bringing a surprise.

 

**Saturday, January 12, 1985 **. 12:30pm.****

Steve was bored and restless. He’d stayed up too late the previous night, then slept in until noon. He took a shower, got dressed, and ate a bowl of cereal while reading the funnies. Snow had been falling all morning, and it was so cold outside that he turned up the heater and lit a fire in the living room fireplace.

He looked up from Garfield and almost choked on his Cheerios when he heard the familiar purr of an engine in the driveway, followed by the slam of a car door. He fussed with his hair as he walked briskly to open the front door.

_Try not to act like an idiot for once... just be cool._

Billy Hargrove was standing on the porch with an old army-green backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, Harrington,” he said with a cocky grin. “Miss me?”

“Not particularly,” Steve replied blandly, crossing his arms against his chest. “Get inside, you’re letting the cold in. And don’t get snow all over the floor.”

“Okay, Mom,” Billy rolled his eyes as he tugged his boots off and dropped them by the door. “Great to see you, too.”

“How was Chicago?” Steve asked, following him into the living room.

“Colder than a witch’s tit.” Billy tossed his bag beside the couch. “I’ve been on the road for hours and all I want is a long, hot shower and a nice, cold beer.”

“We don’t have any beer.”

“No beer? Shit. Well, I’m sure we can find something in this mansion of yours.”

They moved to the adjoining kitchen, where Billy opened the refrigerator and bent down to peer inside. He was wearing his signature ass-hugging blue jeans.

_Stop looking, goddamnit._

“Well, you’ve got limes and a full bottle of tonic water. Do your parents have gin, by any chance?”

“I think so,” Steve called over his shoulder as he went back the living room to rummage in the liquor cabinet below the bar. He found a dusty, half-full bottle of Tanqueray in the back of the cabinet and brought it back to the kitchen. “I didn’t think you were the gin and tonic type.” 

“You thought right.” Billy took the bottle from him and dusted it off with the hem of his shirt. “Any port in a storm, though, and it's good to try something new every once in a while. This’ll do just fine.”

Steve averted his eyes from the strip of briefly exposed, well-muscled stomach, praying Billy hadn’t noticed him looking. Suddenly self-conscious, he put a cutting board on the counter and began slicing limes into thin wedges; he sensed Billy standing close behind him.

“Careful,” Steve muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “You want me to chop a finger off?”

“As exciting as that would be, I'm gonna go with 'no'...” Billy chuckled as he backed away and leaned against the refrigerator. “Oh, and… where are your parents?”

Steve hesitated for a few moments before answering. “Sorry, I guess I forgot to mention it... they’re in Hawaii until Monday.”

“Holy shit! You’re telling me we have the place to ourselves all weekend? You didn’t think to mention that earlier?”

“Why would I?” Steve laughed nervously, turning to face him. “That would’ve sounded… sleazy.”

Billy’s forehead crinkled in confusion and he crossed his arms against his chest. “What the hell do you mean, sleazy?”

_Don’t make me say it out loud._

“I mean…” Flustered, Steve searched for the right words. “Look, if I said ‘So, I’ve got the whole house to myself this weekend’ to a girl I just started seeing, she’d know what my ulterior motives were, right?”

“Oh?” Billy said, cocking his eyebrow. “What ulterior motives might those be?”

Steve scowled at him and didn’t respond.

“Anyway, I’m not a girl, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Billy went on. “And there _are_ other benefits of having a parent-free house besides ‘Now we can fuck like rabbits all weekend’. Partying, mainly.”

_Fuck like… what?_

“So what, you think I should throw a party?” 

An unwelcome memory from last year’s Halloween festivities surfaced in Steve’s mind, and for a moment he could almost hear Nancy’s sad, slurred voice. 

_“It’s great. Like, we’re in love and we’re partying. Yeah, let’s party, huh? Party. We’re partying. This is bullshit.”_

“Nah,” Billy said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Parties are overrated. You have to buy a keg, lock up your valuables, and clean up after everybody trashes the place. But with your parents gone, we can enjoy these drinks in peace and listen to some music... maybe even smoke a little weed.”

“Weed? Is that the surprise you mentioned?”

“Yup,” Billy said cheerfully, tucking his thumbs in his belt loops. “I bought some from a guy in Chicago. It’s top-notch California herb, too, not that dried-up weak shit you find around here that was probably harvested ten years ago.”

“Alright, but if it’s so ‘top-notch’, how’d you afford it?”

_Shit, why did I say that?_

Billy shrugged. “I may have liberated some cash from the ‘secret stash’ in my old man’s underwear drawer. He won’t miss it.”

“Couldn’t your stepmom have used it? For funeral expenses or something?”

_Shut up. Just shut up, Steve. It’s none of your damn business._

“Look,” Billy said crossly. “My dad may have been a stupid sack of shit but he was smart enough to have life insurance. So don’t worry, Susan and Max will be just fine.” 

They stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments. Steve ran his hand nervously through his hair.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t sweat it,” Billy cut him off, looking down distastefully at the dust on his shirt and sniffing his armpit. “Anyway, I’m a mess, so I’m gonna take a shower.” 

Steve was left standing in the kitchen, staring at the lime slices on the cutting board and unable to think clearly. He dimly registered the sounds of a shower being turned on upstairs, and the quiet ticking of the kitchen clock on the wall.

_“Now we can fuck like rabbits all weekend.”_

He squirmed uncomfortably, his heart beating faster as his head swirled with memories of Billy in the shower at gym, calling him pretty, and thoughts of him in the shower upstairs, luxuriating in the steaming hot water. 

_God, this sucks._

In desperate frustration, he switched on the kitchen radio and turned up the volume. He didn’t care what was playing, he just needed noise; anything to distract him from the obscene thoughts in his mind. He wiped down the countertop, grabbed a scrub brush and began washing the heap of dishes in the sink.

Half an hour later Billy emerged freshly shaved and wearing clean clothes, almost unrecognizable with his long, damp hair combed back neatly from his face. 

_He looks like a damn model._

“What are you doing?” Billy asked curiously. “Is your dishwasher broken?” 

“No, I just… felt like washing them by hand.” Steve tugged off his yellow dish gloves and tossed them on the counter. “It’s kind of relaxing.”

“Sure it is.” Billy smiled, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “If you say so.”

They stared at each other for several moments; Steve could sense a strange electricity in the air. When he suddenly realized that ‘Hold Me Now’ by Thompson Twins was playing on the radio, he snapped back to his senses.

_“Hold me now, warm my heart, stay with me, let loving start…”_

“I can’t stand this song,” he muttered as he hastily went to switch it off.

When he turned around, Billy had disappeared; he returned a minute later wearing his black leather jacket and knit hat. He held out Steve’s wool peacoat.

“Put this on, we’re going outside.”

Steve shrugged his coat on and followed Billy through the living room, out the sliding glass doors and into the spacious back yard. Outside, everything was still, silent, and blanketed in white; it had stopped snowing for the moment. 

“I didn’t think anyone had in-ground pools this far north. Reminds me of home.”

The pool was heated in the fall, but it had been drained for the winter months and was currently lined with a thin sheet of snow. Billy leapt down nimbly and skated on his boots down the slope to the deep end.

Steve hopped down after him and glanced around. It was bizarre, standing on the bottom of the pool and looking up at the yawning sky above. He tried not to think of the night Barb disappeared.

_Rest in peace, wherever you are._

“Shall we?” Billy held out a joint and lighter in his palm, his breath white in the icy air.

Steve hardly ever smoked cigarettes anymore, but still enjoyed weed. Unfortunately, it was difficult to find in a small town like Hawkins, Indiana. It had been several months since Steve had last indulged, and this stuff was the strongest he’d ever had. Despite his attempts to look cool as he took a long drag, he ended up hunched over, coughing like an idiot.

“You all right?” Billy laughed, thumping him on the back. “I told you it’s good shit.”

“I’m… fine,” Steve spluttered, feeling decidedly uncool. He tentatively took another puff. “I’m okay.”

He passed the joint to Billy, who was leaning against the pool wall, squinting upwards. The pale grey sky was reflected in his brilliant blue eyes, and Steve thought he looked strangely sad.

“What about you?”

“Huh?” Billy’s brow crinkled in confusion. “What about me?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He spoke cautiously, choosing his words carefully. “I know your old man was a hardass, but he was your dad, after all. It’s okay to… not be okay yet, you know?”

Billy looked thoughtful, blowing a plume of smoke into the air.

“Believe it or not, Harrington, I really am okay,” he said at last. “He _was_ my father in some ways, I guess, but in most ways he was just an angry shitlord who unloaded in my mom one night in the sixties, resulting in yours truly.”

Steve tried not to stare at the thin wisps of pale smoke escaping from between Billy’s lips when he spoke. He was already beginning to feel pleasantly light-headed.  

“I hated the bastard, and I’m not sorry he’s dead.” Billy passed back the joint and stuffed his hands in his pockets, shivering. “Christ, it’s freezing. I’ll never get used to this.”

Steve managed to inhale deeply without coughing this time, exhaling slowly and savoring the numb euphoria spreading through his body. He looked over at Billy, wondering how anyone could be so damn good-looking. His eyelashes were so black, and his lips were so full and pink, it almost looked like he was wearing makeup; his upper lip was a perfect cupid’s bow.

Billy reached over for the joint and took a long, slow drag. He smiled knowingly at Steve, arching an eyebrow. “It’s starting to kick in, isn’t it?”

Steve nodded slowly, feeling his heartbeat quicken as Billy stumped out the last of the joint and stepped towards him with hunger in his eyes. 

_Holy shit..._

Billy pressed him firmly against the cold pool wall and kissed him deeply; he tasted smoky, and smelled like soap and some kind of nice cologne. His face was cold and smooth, and he nudged his tongue between Steve’s lips, making him shudder and stiffen.

Steve pulled away slowly, swallowing hard and clearing his throat. “Wow, um… I, uh... I need a drink.”

Billy looked down and scuffed the snow with his boot. “Yeah, me too.”

The house felt wonderfully warm when they closed the sliding glass doors behind them; they kicked off their snowy boots and tossed their jackets over the back of a chair. In the kitchen, Steve mixed more drinks while Billy rummaged in the refrigerator.

“We could order pizza or something, if you’re hungry,” Steve suggested, passing Billy a cocktail.

“Cheers.” Billy drained his glass in one long gulp, belched, then resumed his search in the freezer. “Would anyone deliver food in the snow?”

“I dunno,” Steve said as he tasted his gin and tonic. It was strong and tart. “Maybe—”

“Bingo!” Billy slammed the freezer and turned around, smiling triumphantly as he held up a box of frozen pizza rolls. “Lunch is on the way.”

Once the snacks were in the oven and they’d refilled their drinks, Billy and Steve went to the living room. Billy put another log in the fireplace while Steve put one of his mixtapes in the cassette player. 

Steve turned up the volume as the sounds of ‘What Difference Does It Make?’ filled the room. He tried not to slosh his drink as he made his way to the couch; the room seemed to tilt as the weed and gin crept to his head. He sat down gratefully, leaning back into the soft cushions and sipping his cocktail.

Billy danced in front of the fire, moving his feet and bobbing his head to the beat. “Who is this?”

“The Smiths,” Steve felt deliciously light-headed and tingly; warmth from the fire and the gin spread through his body as he watched Billy gyrate his hips along with the music.

_“The devil will find work for idle hands to do…”_

“Wanna dance?” Billy extended his hand.

“Um, I… think I’m gonna pass, for now.” 

Billy stopped swaying and flopped down on the couch next to Steve, looking bemused. He tugged off his knit hat and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Feeling good, huh? I’m pretty high myself.” 

He reached over casuallly and rested his hand on Steve’s forearm. “You’re a real lightweight, you know that, Harrington?” 

Steve laughed, for some reason; everything seemed ten times more amusing than usual. Emboldened, he set his glass down on the coffee table and put his hand over Billy’s.

“I’m not _that_ out of it.” He looked down at their interwoven fingers and traced his thumb slowly along Billy’s palm. “And you can stop calling me Harrington all the time, for god’s sake. It’s Steve.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if any of this was really happening; he felt curiously detached from himself, as though he was dreaming, or watching a performance from a distance.

“Alright, _Steve_ …” Billy stared at him with sultry blue eyes, licking his lips slowly. “Wanna fuck?”

_Oh my god._

“Um…” Steve couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. “Wanna… what?”

The stereo began to play ‘Everything Counts’ by Depeche Mode.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” Billy glanced down and slid his hand across Steve’s thigh, brushing tantalizingly near his groin and making him flinch. “Are you too stoned?”

Billy sounded roguishly cavalier, but when their eyes met Steve could only see loneliness and doubt.

“No.” Steve smothered the last of his inhibitions, reaching out to clasp Billy’s face in his hands. “Just stoned enough, I think.”

He shoved him down roughly onto the couch, kissing him fiercely. Billy’s soft lips parted and their tongues met; he tasted faintly like lime. Steve could feel a suspiciously hard lump brush against his leg.

_Is that…?_

“Hang on a sec…” Billy wriggled out from underneath Steve and crawled to the other end of the couch.

Curiosity piqued, Steve watched him, trying not to stare at his ass as he leaned over the armrest to reach something on the floor. He rummaged in his bag for a few moments, then turned around holding a hand towel, a box of Trojans, and a little bottle.

_Holy shit, he’s really serious._

Billy sat back down next to Steve, tossing the items next to him on the couch. 

“You sure you’re on board with this?” he asked in a low voice as he wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulder. 

“I, um…” Steve stammered, stalling for time. 

_Too fast. Too much. Too soon. Too scary._

Billy leaned over and kissed him, his hands slowly traveling down to Steve’s crotch. 

When Steve felt Billy’s fingers brush against his ass, he tensed.

_No way. No fucking way is that happening._

Billy’s hands stilled. “Look, if you don’t want to, that’s—”

“No, I do,” Steve blurted without thinking. 

_What the hell? I do?_

“This is just… very new. And sudden, and…”

Billy picked up the little bottle of lube and the pack of condoms from the couch, holding one out in each hand.

 _I’m not ready oh my god oh my_ —

“Pick one.”

_What?_

Billy sighed impatiently. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, here. Now hurry up before I change my mind.”

Steve stared at Billy for a moment, then wordlessly reached out to select the condoms.

“That’s what I thought.” Billy smirked knowingly and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “So, Steve… you wanna fuck me?”

Steve swallowed and nodded slowly, trying not to look down at the obvious bulge in Billy’s jeans.

“Have you ever done it this way before?” Billy asked in a low voice.

“You know I haven’t.”

“Never put it in a girl’s ass before?”

“Um, no?”

_I’m pretty sure Nancy would’ve smacked me and stormed out if I’d tried something off-menu like that._

“Some say they like it,” Billy shrugged. “And it’s a surefire way to avoid knocking them up, if nothing else.”

“Do _you_ … like it? You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Not in a long, long time,” Billy said absently. A strange look in his eyes warned Steve not to ask for details.

Billy pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid movement, then leaned over to take off Steve’s. He chuckled when the shirt got stuck on Steve’s forehead and jerked it off impatiently, smiling at his rumpled brown hair and tousling it affectionately.

“How’d you get so damned ripped?” Steve ran his hand enviously up the taut muscles of Billy’s upper arm. “You make me want to hit the gym.”

“Well, you’re welcome to lift weights with me,” Billy said, tensing slightly at Steve’s touch. “But I like you just the way you are. Skinny and surprisingly hairy.”

“Shut up. At least I’m taller.”

“You’re what, five-eleven?” Billy scoffed, rolling his eyes and putting his hand on Steve’s leg. “So you’re an inch taller. Don’t get cocky.”

Steve squirmed as Billy slid his hand up his thigh, running his fingers across the erection straining against his jeans.

“Speaking of cocky…” Billy dexterously unzipped Steve’s pants. His deep voice was as smooth as velvet. “Hello there.”

Stoned and aroused, Steve sat back and watched curiously as Billy’s hands worked their way inside his jockey shorts. ‘Down In The Park’ by Gary Numan began playing on the stereo.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” Billy murmured as he slid off the couch to kneel on the carpet between Steve’s legs. "I've never seen it this hard before..."

When he felt Billy’s mouth close around his cock, Steve closed his eyes, sinking back into the couch cushions and exhaling shakily.

_Fuck, he’s good. Really, really good._

Billy suckled diligently, keeping his teeth carefully behind his lips and masterfully using his tongue. After a minute he paused, breathing hard, and Steve could hear a bottle being uncapped and the metallic clink of a belt buckle. 

Steve opened his eyes and saw Billy using his free hand to shimmy out of his tight jeans and underwear. He squirted some clear, thick liquid into his palm and glanced up at Steve.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded as he gripped the base of Steve’s dick with one hand, and reached the other around to his backside. “Don’t look.”

 _Yeah, right_.

The sight of Billy naked and fondling himself while his head bobbed up and down in Steve’s lap was intensely erotic. Steve gripped a fistful of Billy’s hair and shoved his hot, wet mouth further down his shaft. He gritted his teeth, trying to steady his breathing and not make any embarrassing grunts.

Steve felt somewhat guilty watching Billy work so hard to satisfy him while simultaneously preparing himself, but that was soon washed away by waves of pleasure. He came suddenly in a hot rush that Billy swallowed in one messy gulp.

“Do you want me to… return the favor?” Steve asked uncertainly, watching Billy wipe his mouth and rise slowly to his feet, completely nude. 

 _Christ, he’s beautiful_. 

“Just… shut up and touch me,” Billy panted, climbing onto Steve’s lap and straddling him as their mouths met greedily. 

Steve could taste himself in Billy’s mouth; he flinched when he felt Billy’s dick brush against his own. Reaching down tentatively, he held Billy’s velvety cock in his hand and rubbed it slowly. The angle was awkward and unfamiliar, like putting a tie on someone else when you’ve only ever tied your own.

Billy didn’t seem to mind Steve’s lack of expertise, judging by the sounds he was making. He pressed his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, breathing heavily.

Steve increased the tempo, pumping his fist rapidly; Billy’s suppressed little moans were turning him on and he was growing impatient. 

Billy came quickly, groaning and trembling; he reached over for the small towel and wiped lube off his fingers. Steve hadn’t realized Billy was still reaching around to touch his own ass the whole time. 

“Sorry about that,” Billy mumbled as he hastily toweled the sticky mess off his dick.

When he tried to get up, Steve tugged him back down onto his lap, enclosing him in his arms and kissing him hungrily. He bit Billy’s lower lip playfully and reached up to rake his fingers through his soft, wavy hair. It was still slightly damp from the shower.

“You’re not gonna chicken out, right?” Billy mumbled between kisses. “You really want me?”

_Is this guy serious?_

“What do you think, genius?” Steve pressed his hips against him; he was already hard again. He gripped Billy’s long hair and tipped his head back, exposing his throat and muttering against the soft skin of Billy's neck between kisses. "Of course. I fucking. Want you."

“Y-yeah?” Billy's voice trembled just a little. “Show me.”

_Challenge accepted._

“Get on your knees,” Steve whispered hoarsely. 

Billy obeyed, wordlessly dropping to all fours on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Steve stripped off his remaining clothing. His hands shook as he unwrapped a condom and rolled it on, then dribbled lube into his palm and rubbed it generously on his dick. 

Billy watched him quietly the whole time; he was entirely naked except for his watch and jewelry. His long hair tumbled down around his shoulders, shining golden in the firelight.

_Wow._

‘How Soon Is Now’ by The Smiths played on the stereo as Steve dropped to his knees behind Billy, running his hands up the sides of his thighs and over the firm curves of his ass.

“I, uh… cleaned up in the shower earlier,” Billy said over his shoulder, shaking slightly; his silver earring glinted in the light from the fire. “It was just in case things turned out this way. So it’s not really dirty or anything—”

“Shh,” Steve cut him off gently, caressing his inner thighs. “Relax... I don’t think you’re dirty at all.”

_I think you’re the most beautiful, fucked-up person I’ve ever met._

He parted Billy’s shapely cheeks and positioned himself carefully. The tip of his well-lubricated cock slipped inside easily, then came to a halt; it was intensely hot and incredibly tight. Billy inhaled sharply and tensed, arching his back.

“Is that okay?” Steve paused, sensing Billy’s discomfort. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” Billy groaned so softly Steve could barely hear him.

“It hurts? Should I stop?”

“No, I meant… yeah, it’s okay. Don’t stop.”

Steve continued gradually, pulling back and pressing in further as Billy’s muscles relaxed, allowing him deeper with each thrust. He gripped Billy’s hips firmly and coaxed himself gently inside until he was buried to the hilt.   

Billy trembled and drew short, ragged breaths, clenching his thighs together.

_Is he even enjoying this? I can’t see his face._

“Turn around,” Steve instructed quietly as he pulled out carefully and reached down to help Billy turn onto his back. “I want to see you.”

_“I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does...”_

Billy rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows, breathing hard and looking up seductively from between his parted knees.  

“See me now?” 

Steve’s cock throbbed with renewed need as he hurriedly knelt between Billy’s legs; he hoisted him up by the hips until his ass was resting on the tops of his thighs. After some slippery fumbling, Billy smirked and reached up to help him back in. 

“Oh fuck,” Steve breathed shakily as he slid deep inside with one well-positioned stroke. 

_Absolutely mind-blowing._

Billy wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist and squeezed tightly, biting his lower lip and inhaling sharply. 

Steve groaned and pushed him back against the rug, bending down to lick his irresistible little nipples; he propped himself up on one arm and reached down between their sweaty bodies to rub Billy’s dick. 

Billy shuddered and clutched Steve’s shoulders, digging his nails into his back and kissing him feverishly.

“Harder,” he panted urgently in his ear. “Fuck me harder.”

Steve eagerly obliged, hitching Billy’s knees up higher and thrusting as deep as he could, savoring every little gasp and moan as he tried to find Billy’s elusive sweet spot.

“There?” Steve asked breathlessly. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Billy suddenly shoved Steve over and tackled him to the floor, pinning him roughly against the carpet. 

Steve tried not to slip out as Billy straddled him; he gripped Billy’s hips and matched his pace. One of his hands drifted down from his hipbone to his dick, which bounced stiffly against Steve’s abdomen. 

Billy closed his eyes and tilted his face back; the pendant and chain around his neck glinted in the firelight. 

“There,” Billy panted, pinching his eyes closed and parting his lips. His tanned body glistened with sweat and the muscles in his legs tensed as he slid up and down on Steve’s cock. “Right there, that’s it.”

Billy came forcefully, making the sweetest little whimper Steve had ever heard and spurting ejaculate on his chest. He flopped down onto the rug next to Steve, breathing raggedly.

Steve reached for the towel to wipe off the sticky white semen. He tugged the condom off his softening dick and tied the end into a knot; he wasn’t sure what to do with it. 

Billy reached over and plucked it from his hand, tossing it into the fireplace, where it popped loudly and hissed in the flames.

“Oh, great...” Steve wrinkled his nose, sniffing the air distastefully. “I always wanted to find out how melting latex and cooked cum smell.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot the pizza rolls!” Billy stood up quickly and winced, inhaling sharply.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure, no thanks to you, big boy. Jeez, they’d better not be torched.” He ran to the adjoining kitchen, still completely naked. 

_Holy shit, I just fucked Billy Hargrove._

Steve could hear the oven opening and closing and a few muttered curses. He pulled his shirt and jockey shorts back on and went to the kitchen to investigate.

“Do you need any help in here, or…”

Billy was a sight to behold: he was wearing one of Mrs. Harrington’s ruffled aprons and an oven mitt on each hand.

“They're a tad overdone,” Billy said with an apologetic shrug as he held out a tray of slightly burnt pizza polls. “...but still edible, I think.”

Steve burst out laughing. “What the fuck?”

“What?” Billy glanced down self-consciously. “You don’t like it?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.”

“Sorry if I look like something out of a bad porno, but I didn't want to singe my dick, okay?”

“Sure, sure, safety first.” Steve reached out to run his fingers down Billy’s bare back, lingering above his ass. “The bow is a great touch; makes your butt look like a present.”

“Well, you’ve already opened that gift once today,” Billy said, swatting his hand away.

Steve stuck out his bottom lip, pretending to pout. “What, we can only do it once?”

“Don't give me those horny puppy dog eyes... I said once _today_.” Billy sank his teeth into a pizza roll, continuing to talk with his mouth full. “We just established that my ass hurts, remember? So maybe we can have another go tomorrow or the day after, okay?” 

“Will you wear the apron?” 

“Ooh, kinky. That’s the spirit,” Billy grinned mischievously, twirling a lock of long hair around his finger. “If you’d rather do it sooner, we could always swap positions... I pitch, you catch. It's more fun than it looks, trust me.” 

When Steve started to protest, Billy leaned over to pop a pizza roll in his gaping mouth. 

“Tasty, right?” He took off the potholders and apron, tossing them carelessly on the kitchen counter, and carried the snacks into the living room. “Oh, and make me another G&T, will you?”

Determined not to worry about potential threats to his anal virginity, Steve busied himself with mixing two fresh cocktails. He carried them carefully back into the living room and set them down next to the plate of pizza rolls on the red brick hearth.

“Thanks.” Billy had wrapped himself in a plaid flannel blanket and was lounging on the floor, chewing as he watched the flames dance in the fireplace.

_Hard to believe what we were doing just a few minutes ago in this very spot._

Steve’s mixtape had long ago gone silent, and he went to the stereo to flip the cassette over to side B. The sounds of ‘This Charming Man’ by The Smiths soon filled the room. 

“I still can’t get over the fact that you have _two_ compact disc players in this house,” Billy said, bobbing his head to the music. “You’re like the damn Jetsons.”

“I still use cassettes all the time,” Steve said defensively as he flopped down on the floor next to Billy. “It’s not like I can make a mix on a CD, or listen to one in my car, you know?”

“I bet cars will start having CD players in them someday.”

_“I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear. This man said it’s gruesome that someone so handsome should care…”_

“I’m going to University of Michigan in the fall,” Steve said suddenly. “I’ll have an apartment near campus.”

He watched Billy's reaction, but the other boy just took a slow sip of his drink and kept his eyes on the fire. Steve didn't feel like mentioning that just the previous semester, he had planned on delaying college for a year while he waited for Nancy to complete her final year of high school. In the end, his father had taken advantage of an old friendship with the dean of admissions at the University of Michigan and pulled off the minor miracle of securing a spot for his son despite less-than-stellar grades in every subject but gym.

“I figured you might do something fancy like that,” Billy finally said after a long pause. "I hear that's a pretty good school, so... congrats, I guess." 

Steve wasn't sure why he felt such a strong twinge of guilt. “What about you?”

Billy smiled wryly. “My old man used to say college was a waste of money for people like me. He said I’d be lucky to get hired at a gas station and he'd be surprised if I ended up in prison.”

“Well, to hell with what he said... no offense, but your old man didn't know his ass from his elbow," Steve grumbled, irritated by the way the late Neil Hargrove _still_ influenced his son's confidence, even when he was dead and gone. "What do _you_ want?”

“I didn’t really tell anyone, but I applied to a couple places,” Billy admitted, reaching over for another pizza roll. “My grades weren’t good enough for UCLA, and UC Santa Cruz has me on some kind of waiting list…”

“Just California?” Steve asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “You didn’t, uh... apply to any schools around here?” 

“No,” Billy shrugged. “Maybe I should've, but that was last year, and I didn’t know…”

He trailed off awkwardly, looking down and turning his face away. 

“Know what?” Steve nudged him. He knew what Billy meant, but he wanted to hear him say it.

“I didn’t know something crazy like _this_ was going to happen, alright?” Billy mumbled, his cheeks reddening as he pulled the blanket closer around him. 

_He’s so cute._

Steve considered telling him about Washtenaw Community College in Ann Arbor, but decided to wait. Fall was several months away, after all; it was way too early to do something as drastic as ask him to move all the way to Michigan with him. Anything could happen between now and September.

_We’ve got one last semester to get through, and then we’ll have the whole summer to ourselves. No need to rush._

“I’ve gotta take a piss.” Billy leaned over to kiss him before shuffling down the hall, a corner of the blanket trailing on the carpet behind him.

Steve walked over to the stereo as ‘Dreams Never End’ by New Order began to play. He turned up the volume; it was one of his favorites from freshman year. None of the words really made any sense, but he liked it anyway... after all, plenty of good things in the world didn't make any sense.

_When he comes back, maybe I’ll ask him to dance._


	5. Love Walks In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And then you sense a change  
> Nothing feels the same  
> All your dreams are strange  
> Love comes walking in.”
> 
> \- Love Walks In by Van Halen, 1986

**Thursday, October 9th, 1986. Ann Arbor, Michigan.**  

When Steve Harrington heard the distant rumble of thunder, he glanced up at the clouds gathering in the dark sky and hoped the rain would wait until later, since he’d left his umbrella at home. He tightened his scarf and turned up the collar of his tan Burberry trenchcoat, which still looked as good as new— his parents had sent it to him in June as a sort of “congratulations for not failing your first year of college” gift.

Thursdays were his busiest and least favorite day at school because in addition to his usual morning and afternoon classes, he had a three-hour long English literature class which was taught by a strict, humorless professor who almost never let her students out a second earlier than the nine o’clock dismissal time.

Steve was walking because his BMW was in the shop; he was on his way to The Heidelberg, a large German restaurant that was about eight blocks from campus. His boyfriend, Billy Hargrove, didn’t have a rich, well-connected father to secure him a spot at the University of Michigan, so he took classes at the nearby community college and paid for his tuition, books, and car insurance by waiting tables at The Heidelberg.

“When does he get off tonight?” Steve wondered aloud, glancing down at his watch.

He could never remember Billy’s work schedule, which seemed to change constantly at the whim of the cheerfully eccentric restaurant manager. For all Steve knew, he might be home already, studying at the kitchen table in the modest apartment they had shared for the last year.

_I miss him. I just saw him this morning, but I really miss him._

Steve adjusted the strap of the heavy backpack on his shoulder and quickened his pace. During the day or on the weekend, the sidewalk would be thronged with pedestrians and window-shoppers, but at nine-thirty on a cold Thursday night the street was mostly empty. Except for a few restaurants and bars, all the businesses on North Main Street were closed; several had decorated their windows with grinning jack-o-lanterns and paper cutouts of witch hats, ghosts, and bats.

When Steve finally stepped into the warm, smoky-smelling restaurant, a hostess he didn’t recognize greeted him with a friendly smile.

“Welcome to The Heidelberg,” she said brightly. “Would you like a table, or do you just wanna have a seat at the bar?”

_Maybe she’s new._

Steve returned her smile. “Hey there, I’m actually not here to eat or have a beer or anything, I’m just here for—”

“Billy?” A different young woman had wandered over, dressed in a German barmaid-type outfit; she had seen Steve often, when he came to meet Billy at the end of his shift. “Yeah, he’s here. Go ahead and look around for him, if you want… but whatever you do, don't mention the lederhosen, ‘cause he’s pretty damn touchy about that.”

_Huh? What's she talking about?_

Even on a Thursday, the restaurant was crowded, noisy and smelled strongly of beer, cigarette smoke, and grilled sausage. Steve stood casually against a wall with his hands tucked in his coat pockets, scanning the room for Billy and bobbing his head in time to the music; he was familiar with the song 'Major Tom' by Peter Schilling, of course, but he had never heard it sung in German before.

“ _Völlig losgelöst, von der Erde, Schwebt das Raumschiff, Völlig schwerelos…”_

When he spotted Billy on the other side of the room carrying a large tray of empty beer steins, Steve instinctively stood up straighter and ran his fingers through his hair; even after almost two years together, Billy still had that effect on him. Steve couldn’t see very well from across the crowded, dimly-lit room, but he immediately noticed that Billy was wearing some kind of odd brown suspenders.

“Hey,” he mouthed, smiling broadly and raising his hand to wave. “Get over here.”

Billy froze when Steve caught his eye, glancing around furtively before setting the tray of glasses down on an empty table and quickly making his way across the room. He hadn’t cut his wavy, golden-brown hair since moving to Michigan and he usually kept it out of his face at work by tying it back into a ponytail, with a couple of jaunty curls springing loose and framing his handsome face.

_Holy crap, what the hell is he wearing?_

As Billy deftly maneuvered past all the tables and seated restaurant customers, his outfit came into full view. Some of it was normal— there was the ever-present pair of black combat boots Steve had bought him the previous Christmas and Billy’s usual white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons undone— but everything else about his “uniform” was different. Instead of black work slacks, Billy was wearing brown shorts that stopped six inches above his knees; they looked like they might be made from actual leather. Attached to the tight waistband were matching suspenders with a little embroidered strap crossing his chest.

“Hey,” Billy greeted tersely, stopping a few feet from Steve and resting his hands on his hips. “Whatcha doing here?”

“I, uh, just wanted to say hi.”

Billy’s cheeks were faintly flushed. “Well, hi.”

_“Don’t mention the lederhosen," she said. How the hell am I supposed to do that?_

Steve pointed at the ceiling, indicating the music booming from the speakers. “I had no idea there was a German version of this song.”

“They’ve been playing Kraut-rock all goddamn day… ‘Der Kommissar’, ‘Rock Me Amadeus’, ‘99 Luftballons’… I don’t know the names of the other ones, but there are a shit-ton.”

“Right. So, um, what are you wearing?” Steve asked, unable to ignore Billy’s shorts for a moment longer.

“Just some dumb Bavarian shit the boss lady asked me to wear… it’s only temporary, for this Oktoberfest promotion we’re doing, and she promised to pay me extra, ‘cause the customers get a kick out of it, so…” Billy trailed off, looking endearingly self-conscious as he fiddled with one of his suspender straps and avoided direct eye contact.

_I don’t know whether to laugh or drag him to the men’s bathroom for a quickie._

Steve cleared his throat and swallowed; he could feel himself beginning to get hard, but he couldn’t stop staring at the way Billy’s legs— muscular, tan, and hairy only upon close inspection— looked in those leather shorts and combat boots.

“They’re called, uh… lederhosen, right?”

“Yeah.” Billy shrugged. “Apparently dudes in the old days actually wore this crap. Pretty gay, right?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow and smirked suggestively. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but… that would be a perfect Halloween costume for you, especially if you lost the shirt.”

“Shut up,” Billy muttered, though the corner of his lip twitched up into a reluctant half-smile. “I know it’s stupid.”

“Nein, Herr Wilhelm,” Steve countered in a half-assed attempt at a German accent. “Ist vehr, vehr gut. Über gut.”

Billy tipped his head back and laughed; the two silver earrings in his left ear glinted under the light of the wrought-iron chandeliers suspended high above them. “Man, that’s terrible.”

Steve couldn’t help pouting a little; he didn’t think it was _that_ bad. “Fine, let’s hear yours, hot-shot.”

Billy had been listening to nothing but German rock music for the past eight hours, so his accent _was_ considerably better; there was more to it than just pronouncing W like V. He leaned forward, his warm breath tickling Steve’s neck when he lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. “You want to take me home and put your frankfurter in my bun?”

Steve choked on air and coughed, feeling like every drop of blood in his body had just flooded to his dick; he was grateful to be wearing such a long coat.

Billy grinned, obviously enjoying himself and the effect his teasing was having on his blushing boyfriend. He glanced around to make sure nobody was listening before continuing. “You wanna give me a taste of your big bratwurst, mein Liebling? Put your wiener in my schnitzel, ja?”

_That doesn’t even make sense but holy shit I want him so bad…_

“Yoo-hoo!”

Startled by the shrill interruption, Steve and Billy hastily stepped back from each other as a young, blonde waitress in a dirndl skirt and ruffled blouse approached them, carrying a tray loaded with precariously full beer steins. “Are you on break, or what? I’m getting completely _swamped_ out here.”

She snapped her gum and paused to look at Steve with undisguised interest. “Hang on a sec… who’s this tall drink of water?”

“I thought you said you were busy,” Billy said pointedly, indicating the heavy tray she was balancing. “I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… you’d better, or I’m telling the boss.” The waitress walked away brisky, switching on a megawatt smile as she approached the table of thirsty patrons awaiting their beer.

Steve looked down at it watch; it was approaching ten o’clock. “What did she mean about going on break? I thought your shift was gonna be over at nine-thirty.”

“It was, but two waiters called in sick today so I’ve gotta stay ’til at least eleven,” Billy explained apologetically. “You didn’t have something planned for tonight, did you?”

_So he did forget._

“Not really, no.” Steve decided not to mention his birthday; he saw no reason to ruin the rest of Billy’s night by making him feel guilty. “I just wanted to see y—”

“Hey, garçon!” A red-faced, inebriated man bellowed at Billy from a nearby booth. “Could we get another round over here?”

“Hasn’t he had enough?” Billy muttered under his breath, looking like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Sorry, but I’d better go…”

After making sure nobody was watching, Steve reached down to give Billy’s hand a quick squeeze. “Wake me up if I’m asleep when you get home, alright? I don’t care how late it is.”

Billy nodded and walked back to the table where he’d left the tray of empty glass beer steins; his well-defined biceps strained visibly at the fabric of his white button-down shirt as he hoisted up the heavy tray and disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors.

……………………

The autumn night air was especially chilly after the cozy warmth of the restaurant. Steve wasn’t sure why he felt so disappointed. He hadn’t lied to Billy when he said he hadn’t made any plans for that evening; he hadn’t considered making dinner reservations or buying movie tickets, mainly because it was late and he knew they both had classes the next morning. Still, he had looked forward to walking Billy home after his shift. Steve neither wanted nor expected anything particularly exciting to happen; he figured they’d just talk about how their day had gone since they last saw each other at breakfast, and perhaps stop by their favorite pizzeria for an extra-large pepperoni supreme. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend his birthday than curling up on the couch with Billy, eating pizza and watching TV.

_And screwing, with any luck… maybe he knows some more German dirty talk._

Steve was much too old, he reasoned, to care about things like birthdays anymore; the only birthday he had left that might be considered a big deal was his twenty-first, which was still a year away. 

_Hardly anyone ever cards me, anyway._

As he strolled briskly down Main Street, Steve pulled his Walkman out of his backpack, cursing under his breath when he saw how tangled the headphone wires had gotten. Earlier that afternoon he had stopped at a record store to buy New Order’s newest cassette tape, and he was already obsessed with 'Paradise', the first track.

_“If we left this town, we could walk the earth together, if you let me down, I will live in you forever… I want you, I want you, I need you, I need you…”_

Half a block from his apartment, he heard another roll of thunder and felt raindrops on his face. He hastily stuffed his Walkman and headphones back in his backpack to keep them from getting wet; the batteries were probably almost dead, anyway. Walking briskly, he reached the old brick building within three minutes and trudged up the stairs to the third-floor apartment he had shared with Billy for the last year.

_When he gets home from work, I’ll ask him if he wants to go out to breakfast sometime this weekend… or brunch, if we want to sleep in._

When Steve unlocked the door and let himself in, a sleek black cat immediately wound itself around his ankles and greeted him with a loud, demanding  _meow_.

“Hey, Maddie.” He reached down to stroke her soft fur, but she scampered away to lead him towards her empty food dish. “Ready for your dinner, huh?”

The cat was named Maddie because Steve had found her on East Madison Street, back in April; she’d been a tiny, emaciated kitten then, and Billy had helped Steve nurse her back to health. They never discussed the possibility of not keeping the feisty little black cat with pale green eyes; as soon as Steve brought her home in his jacket pocket that day, she was as good as family.

Now a healthy eight pounds with a beautiful, glossy coat, Maddie butted her head repeatedly against Steve’s calves, meowing impatiently as he opened the Tupperware container of cat food.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time,” he muttered as he poured a generous portion of kibble into her dish. “What have you been up to all day… sleeping? Watching squirrels out the window? Licking your butt?”

Maddie, obviously, ignored him and kept her face buried in her bowl; the only sounds in the small kitchen were her noisy crunching, the clink of her tags against her ceramic food dish, and the low, constant hum of the old refrigerator in the corner.

Steve yawned as he dropped his rain-speckled backpack onto a nearby chair and draped his coat over it. “I could use something to eat, myself… I’m starving.”

He studied the contents of his pantry and fridge for a few minutes before sticking a frozen pizza in the oven, making sure he set the timer so he wouldn’t forget about it. He remembered the fateful January day back in Hawkins, when Billy had almost burned an entire tray of pizza rolls.

_Who could blame him? It can’t be easy to remember what’s in the oven when you’ve got a dick in your ass._

Looking for a good way to kill twenty minutes while his pizza cooked, Steve wandered into the living room and picked up the acoustic guitar propped in a corner. Billy had presented Steve with the slightly scratched Gibson on his last birthday after spotting it in a pawn shop window. Determined to one day serenade his boyfriend with a stirring rendition of ‘Stairway to Heaven’, 'Comfortably Numb', or something similarly impressive, Steve had put aside some time to practice almost every night since then. Some days he felt like he was finally starting to make some real progress, and other days he felt like he'd never figure it out.

He slouched on the sofa and hummed softly to himself, idly strumming the chords he had learned: A7 and E minor were the easiest, since they used only two fingers, whereas bar chords like F were appallingly difficult. He looked up when Maddie trotted over to him, the tiny bell on her collar jingling with each step. She wiggled her bottom before leaping gracefully onto the couch beside Steve, where she immediately began rubbing her face against his hand.

“Want me to pay attention to you instead, huh?” He chuckled and scratched Maddie under her chin, then shoved her gently onto the other side of the couch. “I’m supposed to be practicing, you little scamp.”

_Brrrrrrring!_

Startled by the loud ring of the kitchen timer, the cat bolted off the couch and disappeared down the hall. Steve set his guitar down and retrieved the pizza from the oven, hacking it into large, uneven slices and wincing when hot melted cheese burned the roof of his mouth.

“Ow! Christ…”

Even though it was scalding hot and not particularly tasty, Steve quickly polished off half the pizza and put the rest on a plate in the fridge so the cat couldn’t lick it. He wanted something to drink, and when he saw that there weren’t any more cans of beer, he reached for the orange juice.

“Goddamnit, Billy,” he muttered under his breath when he realized there was barely half an inch of juice sloshing in the carton. “I’ve told him a million times not to do that shit…”

When Steve closed the fridge, his eyes wandered over the various business cards, take-out menus, and photos stuck to it with random magnets. In his favorite picture, a polaroid taken that February, Billy was wearing a snow-flecked scarf and knit hat, tilting his head back and laughing so hard his eyes were pinched closed and his nose was scrunched up.

_I can’t remember what I said, but I’m glad he thought it was funny._

Without thinking, Steve began humming Bronski Beat’s 'Smalltown Boy' under his breath; it had suddenly popped into his head, even though he hadn’t heard the song in a long time, perhaps not since the New Year’s Eve party when Billy had gotten drunk and planted a surprising but not entirely unwelcome kiss on Steve at midnight.

_I didn’t see that coming from a mile away… and look at us now. It’s kind of nuts, but… it works._

……………………

After a hot shower, Steve brushed his teeth then turned on the radio while he combed his wet hair and put on his pajamas, singing along to Eddie Money’s ‘Take Me Home Tonight’, one of his recent guilty pleasures. Billy had branded the infectious pop song “cornier than a king-size bag of Fritos” so Steve only listened to it when his critical boyfriend wasn’t around, and if he was inparticularly playful spirits he sometimes used a hairbrush or remote control as a microphone.

_“I feel a hunger, it’s a hunger that tries to keep a man awake at night. Are you the answer, I shouldn’t wonder when I feel you whet my appetite.”_

When he opened the bathroom cabinet to get some dental floss, Steve’s eyes rested on the half-full box of Trojans perched on the top shelf. He didn’t use condoms very often, but they were useful on occasions when having come leaking out of one’s ass would be inconvenient, like when Billy was in the mood for a quickie just before leaving for class or a shift at The Heidelberg.

_“With all the power you’re releasing, it isn’t safe to walk the city streets alone. Anticipation’s running through me, let’s find the key and turn this engine on…”_

After flossing his teeth, Steve stretched out on the bed, listening to the radio and watching the silvery streaks of rain on the windowpane. He hoped Billy had actually brought a warm jacket to work with him for once.

_It’s a miracle he doesn’t get sick more often… he still hasn’t learned to button up his damn shirts and wear an actual coat._

Steve meant to stay awake until Billy came home, but he was tired and ended up drifting off to sleep. He had a vividly realistic dream in which Billy was giving him a blow job with ‘Love Walks In’ blaring on the radio.

_“Some kind of alien waits for the opening, then simply pulls a string, love comes walking in…”_

Steve must have only been about three-quarters asleep, because he could dimly remember leaving the radio on; the music sounded too real to be in his head. Even more real than the Van Halen song was the hot, wet mouth around his cock; without opening his eyes, Steve instinctively lifted his hand to run his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair.

“Billy,” he murmured drowsily, still half-asleep. “Am I dreaming, or is that…?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” a very familiar voice replied with a muffled chuckle. “And don’t worry about creaming your pants, amigo, ‘cause I already took ‘em off for you.”

Steve finally noticed that his pajama pants were, indeed, gone (though he was still wearing his t-shirt). He lifted his head a few inches off the pillow and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He definitely wasn’t dreaming: Billy Hargrove was crouched beside him, gripping the base of his dick and licking it like it was the world’s most delicious ice cream cone.

“Mmm…” Steve sighed, biting his bottom lip and dropping his head back onto the pillow. “That feels so good, babe.”

Billy mumbled something incoherent in reply; his mouth was too busy for much conversation. His long hair, cold and damp from a recent shower and fragrant with shampoo, hung down around his face in a wavy curtain and tickled the sensitive skin of Steve’s thighs. He had pulled a blanket over himself, but it was slipping down past his hips and the faint moonlight shining through the window illuminated the smooth lines and curves of his naked body.

“What happened to those sexy leather shorts and suspenders?” Steve teased, reaching out to run his fingers slowly from Billy’s back to his ass. “I know it’s crazy to wish you were wearing _more_ clothes, but…”

Billy chuckled again and raised his head, giving the tip of Steve’s cock a final lick before sitting up; he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then tucked his long hair behind his ears.

“Is that what you really want, birthday boy?” He kept his voice low and provocative as he lifted one of his legs over Steve to straddle him. “A nice little lederhosen striptease?”

_So he did remember._

Steve smiled, reaching up with both hands to trace the outline of Billy’s perfect nipples. “I thought you forgot.”

“About your birthday? Oh ye of little faith…” Billy bent down to kiss him; his mouth was warm and tasted like spearmint toothpaste.

When the song came to an end and a shampoo commercial began playing, Steve reached over to switch off the radio; he fumbled blindly for the power button while Billy kept his face clasped between his hands, kissing him with all the forceful emotion of a soldier returning home from war. 

_God, I missed him._

In the sudden absence of radio noise, the sounds of kissing and rustling sheets seemed amplified. Steve found himself wishing, as he so often did in such situations, that he had more than two hands so he could touch Billy everywhere at once: face, neck, shoulders, nipples, waist, hips, cock, balls, thighs, and ass. 

“Turn around, so I can kiss you somewhere else,” Steve suggested, gripping Billy’s waist and trying to tug him closer. He had come a long way from the bygone days of senior year when he was too shy to tell Billy how badly he wanted to try sticking his tongue in his ass.

“Tempting offer, but I’m already slicked up and good to go.” The mattress creaked as Billy rose onto his knees and reached behind him to grip Steve’s cock, carefully guiding it into position. “I’Il take a rain check, okay? Right now I gotta have you inside me.”

The tip of Steve’s cock twitched in anticipation when it brushed against the wet little entrance between the firm cheeks of Billy’s ass. Steve hastily tugged off his t-shirt and grabbed Billy's hips, holding him steady as he slipped inside.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Billy sighed as he sank down slowly and drew him in, inch by long, thick inch. “God, I love your cock.”

Unbearably turned on, Steve pulled him down the rest of the way. “Not as much as it loves you.”

Billy moaned as he was filled completely; he paused for a moment to let his body adjust, then began rising up a little and sinking down again, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he gradually built up a rhythm. He arched his back and kept his eyes locked on Steve, licking his lips just like he used to when they were playing high school basketball.

_ He wanted to get in my head from Day One... it worked, and he's been there ever since.  _

Steve’s eyes had adjusted pretty well to the darkness; in the pale light from a nearby streetlight shining through the curtains, he could see the outlines of Billy’s perfect, naked body moving up and down. Intensely aroused, Steve was slightly alarmed when he began to feel that tell-tale quickening in his balls that meant an orgasm was just around the corner. He quickly turned his thoughts to baseball to keep himself from coming too soon; he always tried to be a gentleman and wait for Billy to climax first. 

“Thinkin’ about golf?” Billy asked with a knowing arch of his eyebrow. “Or baseball?”

“Baseball,” Steve replied, keeping one hand on Billy’s hip and moving the other to give some attention to his hard, neglected dick. “You know me so well.”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Billy said breathlessly. He leaned back, bracing his hands on the tops of Steve’s thighs and focusing the intense pressure of Steve’s cock on his sweet spot.

They had made love so many times that there was no need to ask things like “There?” or “Is that good?” anymore; each boy knew precisely what the other liked best. Steve proved his expertise a few minutes later when he moved his hand down from Billy’s dick to press his thumb firmly against the skin between his ass and balls, digging against the place that never failed to make him see stars.

“Oh, fuck!” Billy cried out, shuddering and squeezing his eyes closed as he came. “Steve… mmm… Steve…”

He toppled over onto the bed, breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling. “Man, I needed that.”

Steve sat up and looked down at the sticky mess Billy had left on his hairy chest, even though it was too dark to really see anything but a faint glistening. Never one to let anything go to waste, he wiped the come off with his palm and rubbed it on his own dick, which was still hard as a rock and craving more.

“I’m not finished with you yet.” He rolled Billy over onto his stomach, exposing his round, muscular bottom. “Get back here.”

Billy laughed into the pillow, even though he was too exhausted to move; his spent body was wonderfully supple and he watched over his shoulder as Steve knelt behind him and tugged his hips up.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Steve whispered, exhaling like he was lowering himself into a hot bath as he pushed back inside. He met almost no resistance; the muscles in Billy’s ass were so relaxed after his recent orgasm that he felt wonderfully soft and pillowy. Steve gripped Billy’s hips and moved slowly at first, then increased his tempo until he could feel their balls slapping together.

_It’s too damn dark in here… I want to see him better…_

“Turn the light on, babe.”

“What?” Billy’s words were muffled in the pillow he was squeezing. “Why?”

“Turn the light on,” Steve repeated urgently, feeling his climax swiftly approaching. “I wanna see you.”

“Yeah, I bet you do, you skeevy perv,” Billy mumbled as he reached out to switch on the bedside lamp. “See me now?”

“Yeah,” Steve panted, resuming his pace and thrusting so rapidly that the headboard knocked rhythmically against the wall. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Billy moaned when Steve abruptly slid out and came all over his tender, swollen entrance.

_Now, that’s a beautiful sight…_

Steve held his dick steady and squeezed out every drop, then promptly shoved it back inside to savor a few more slow, luxuriously well-lubricated strokes before finally beginning to soften. He watched with proud, tired satisfaction as beads of his own hot, milky-white come dripped from Billy’s rosy ass.

“Like pearls on a peony,” he murmured under his breath.

“Did you learn that in your English lit class, pretty boy?”

Steve sighed with contentment as he rolled over onto his back. “Why, did you like it?”

“Sure,” Billy snorted. “You gonna start writing erotic poetry?”

“As long as you keep inspiring me.” Steve patted Billy’s rump suggestively. “I’ll be a tortured poet and you can be my sexy, sarcastic muse.”

Billy laughed, shivering a little as Steve traced his fingers absentmindedly up and down the length of his spine.

“That was the best birthday present ever,” Steve said without thinking. “Thank you.”

Billy reached over to pick up Steve’s flannel pajama pants from the end of the bed and used them to wipe the sticky mess from between his thighs. “You thought _that_ was your present? A roll in the hay?”

“It wasn’t?”

“Nah,” Billy scoffed, tossing the dirty pants off the bed. “I was just really horny when I got off work.”

“Oh.” Steve didn’t really know what to say to that. “Well, thanks anyway, I guess.”

“I might not be a gazillionaire like you, but I’m not a bum,” Billy muttered, sounding mildly offended as he crawled over Steve to reach the nightstand on his own side of the bed. “I can afford to get my boyfriend an actual gift, y’know.”

Steve raised himself up on his elbows, watching curiously as Billy rummaged through the little drawer; he couldn’t resist giving his bare, beautiful ass an affectionate squeeze.

“Here.” Billy unceremoniously plopped an envelope in his lap and sat cross-legged beside him. “Happy birthday.”

Steve opened the envelope and pulled out a card, smiling as he read the awkwardly sweet little message Billy had scrawled in his distinctively blocky, all-caps handwriting.

_Christ, he’s so cute…_

Meanwhile, Billy busied himself with fixing his hair, which had gotten rather untidy during his recent exertions; he pulled an elastic hair-tie off his wrist and used his fingers to comb the tousled golden-brown waves into a ponytail.

“Quit getting gooey-eyed over the damn card and check out what else is in there.”

Steve obediently put down the birthday card and peered in the envelope; two tickets had fallen out of the card.

“November twenty-second,” he read aloud, squinting at the small print. “Fox Theatre… Detroit, Michigan… New Order. Wait, _New Order_?”

“That’s one of the bands you like, right?” Billy crinkled his brow uncertainly. “I wanted to surprise you, but I wasn’t sure if I should buy them before making sure you didn’t already have plans for that weekend…”

_How many shifts did he have to work to afford these?_

“I doubt I have any plans, and if I do, they are _so_ canceled.” Steve wrapped an arm around Billy and pulled him closer, feeling so excited he was almost giddy. “God, this is _awesome_.”

“Yeah?” Billy mumbled against his shoulder.

“ _Hell_ , yeah!” Steve squeezed him even tighter and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, babe… I mean it. Thank you.”

“Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy.” Billy plucked the tickets from his hand, stuffed them back into the envelope and leaned over to drop them on the bedside table. “Now, let’s put these away before you lose them… and turn off this light so I can get some shut-eye. I’m bushed.”

“Did I wear you out?”

“Maybe,” Billy admitted coyly as he switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“But in a good way, right?”

“Yeah,” Billy chuckled, sliding under the blankets. “In a really, _really_ good way.”

The corner of Steve’s lip twitched up into a lusty little smirk. “Can we do it again in the morning?”

“Not if you don’t let me get any damn sleep.”

“Okay, okay.” It was hard for Steve to just close his eyes and switch off his brain for the night, though; his heartrate was still elevated after the sex and now he was bursting with excitement about the New Order concert. “So, do you want to spend that whole weekend in Detroit, or—”

“What I _want_ is to get my beauty sleep, motormouth,” Billy muttered drowsily. “I’ve got class tomorrow, and so do you.”

“Alright, alright.” Steve knew better than anyone what a fractious, foul-tempered brat his boyfriend could be when he hadn’t gotten enough rest. “See you in the morning, babe. Good night.”

“G’night, Steve.”

They heard the faint jingle of the bell on Maddie’s collar as she came into the room and leapt up onto the foot of the bed. Her eyes shone in the dark and she kneaded the blanket for a few moments before curling up in a ball near Steve’s feet, purring loudly.

“Oh, and one more thing…” Steve murmured as he pulled Billy closer beneath the covers.

Billy groaned wearily. “What now?”

“I love you.”

Billy’s warm breath tickled the sensitive skin in the crook of Steve’s arm. “I love you, too. Happy birthday.”

Even after a year of hearing them, the words still brought an immediate smile to Steve’s face. He lay there in content silence, listening to the soothing sounds of Billy’s breathing, the cat’s purrs, and the soft patter of raindrops on the window. He suddenly remembered that he meant to ask Billy if he was free to go out to breakfast with him on Saturday morning.

“Hey,” he whispered, gently prodding the warm, muscular arm draped heavily across his chest. “You still awake, babe?”

His boyfriend’s only response was a soft sound halfway between a moan and a snore; Billy had fallen asleep in the snug safety of Steve’s embrace.

_It’s okay… I’ll just ask him when we wake up in the morning._

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. Comments are always welcome. 
> 
> :)


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